


I Do Until I Don't

by nutalexfanfic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Artist Clarke, CEO Lexa, Cheating, Established Relationship, F/F, Fine Stud Lexa, Heartbreak, Panic Attacks, Trauma, Trust Issues, clexa baby, evil echo, evil nylah, healing together, high school sweethearts, learning to love each other again, married clexa, modern clexa, not actual cheating, soft mom lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9839708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutalexfanfic/pseuds/nutalexfanfic
Summary: Dating is hard coming out of a fifteen-year  long relationship with a three-year old in tow. Dating is even harder when the person on the other side of the candle-lit table is your wife of fifteen years and mother to your three-year old.OrAfter a major fissure in their relationship that leaves them ripped open and raw, Clarke and Lexa must re-learn what it means to be together again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originating from the prompt collections, I decided to make this its own work because I plan to continue writing in this universe.

“I saw you, Lexa! I _saw_ you.”

 

“You didn’t see shit, Clarke! I would _never_ do that to you!”

 

“Are you calling me a liar?”

 

“I’m calling you blind! Or something! What the _hell,_ Clarke?! I mean, really? You’re gonna ask me for a divorce over a blurry tabloid picture?! We’ve been married for ten god damn years!” Lexa slams her hand against their kitchen wall and begins to pace, anger and panic rippling off of her like a wild animal.

 

“Keep your voice down,” Clarke hisses, “you’ll wake Lexi up.”

 

Lexa swipes the tabloid off the counter and chucks it across the room, needing some quieter form of venting. “This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.”

 

“Just sign them, Lexa.” Clarke tries to force the manila envelope into her hands.

 

“Get that away from me.”

 

“Sign them. And then get out of my house.”

 

Lexa stops and stares, eyes just hard enough to hide the pain underneath. “I won’t.”

 

Clarke shoves folder against Lexa’s chest with enough force to knock Lexa back a few steps, and Lexa knows that’s her pain talking. Lexa knows that when her wife is in pain, when she’s barely holding it together, she gets hard and strong and vicious. She knows, because she knows her wife. Her best friend, her lover. She knows her better than anything.

 

“Don’t do this, Clarke. It’s only been a week.  Why are you just now bringing it up?”

 

“I wanted to have the papers first.”

 

“Give me a change to fix to this.”

 

Clarke stares at her as if she might actually be deliberating. But then her head drops for a long time and when it finally rises, there are tears in her eyes.

 

“Every time I close my eyes, I see you kissing her, Lexa. _Touching_ her. Fuck. _Inside_ her,” Clarke cries.

 

“That never happened! None of that happened! Clarke, please—“

 

“Don’t touch me.” Clarke steps back and yanks her arm out of Lexa’s tentative grasp. “I know what I saw.”

 

“What you _think_ you saw _.”_

“God dammit, Lexa, it’s right here!” Clarke grabs the tabloid off the floor and points to the front cover. “For the whole fucking world to see! I got a call from my _mother_ asking me if I’d seen the news!”

 

“It’s not news! It’s junk! Since when have we ever paid attention to that shit?!”

 

“Since Nylah was there! Since she saw it! Since she corroborated the whole thing!”

 

“Oh jesus fuck, _come on!_ You can’t trust Nylah! She’s in love with you! She’d say anything to break us up.”

 

“Yeah, and Echo? What about her? She was there too—“

 

“Echo hates me! You know that! She’d do anything to get back at me for mother!”

 

“Echo isn’t Nia. She can’t be punished for her mother’s mistakes. Besides, maybe hates you because she doesn’t have any respect for lying, shitbag cheaters!”

 

“Wow.” Lexa takes a step back, nodding slowly like she’s trying to process. “Okay.”

 

“Lexa—“

 

“You’ve actually gone and lost your fucking mind.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You’re going to let…let people like _them_ dictate our lives? Ten years of marriage, fifteen years together total? Seriously? You’re gonna throw that away because you saw a _blurry_ picture of me in a _dark as fuck_ bar supposedly kissing some girl? A picture where you can’t even tell it’s me? One that’s likely photoshopped? There’s like half a fucking face visible there!”

 

“Nylah and Echo—“

 

“Nylah and Echo are meddling fucks who have been trying to get between us since high school!”

 

“Why were you there?”

 

Lexa stills at the quiet tone of Clarke’s voice. She takes a step closer, encouraged by the sudden passivity.  “What?”

 

“Why were you at that bar?”

 

“I was closing a deal.”

 

“That couldn’t be done at the office?”

 

“He was a good ‘ol boy type. I told you. I _told_ you that morning. I told you I was going to meet him after work.”

 

“And you needed to do it at a bar?”

 

“I told you he was a bourbon kind of guy.”

 

So you needed to booze him up.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“To connect with him.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Clarke nods like she believes her. It’s disarming.

 

“And did you need to stick your tongue down some girl’s throat to connect with him too?”

 

“Oh for christ’s sake, Clarke! What do I need to do to convince you?”

 

“Just.” Clarke throws up her hands, unable to stop the small whimper that escapes. “Just sign the papers.”

 

“You’re not even going to give me a chance? Just like that, you want a divorce? What about Lexie? What about our family? Our life? This wonderful, beautiful life we’ve built together?”

 

“Don’t put that on me. Don’t. _You_ did this. Just you.”

 

“But I didn’t! Clarke, I would never cheat on you! I have no reason to! I’m so,” Lexa chokes on the lump in her throat, ‘god I’m so in love with you, baby, please.”

 

“Sign the papers, Lexa.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Sign the fucking papers!”

 

“No!”

 

Clarke swears and storms past her wife, but Lexa grabs her by the waist and yanks her back. In one swift motion she pushes her against the fridge and presses their bodies together, Lexa’s lips finding Clarke’s in desperation. Clarke doesn’t pull away. She let’s herself be kissed. She lets herself feel the warm familiarity of her wife’s hands on her cheeks, her lips searching and devouring. Her hips, her strong and firm and sure hips pressing her into place like they have so many times before.

 

They kiss until Clarke turns her head when Lexa moves to adjust. Her eyes are closed, but she can feel Lexa watching her, waiting. She can feel when Lexa finally gives up and moves away from her. When she opens her eyes, Lexa is holding the papers in her hand, trembling.

 

Their eyes meet.

 

“I can’t sign these,” Lexa whispers. “I can’t.”

 

Clarke bites her tingling bottom lip. She shakes her head.

 

“I can’t lose you.”

 

“Don’t,” Clarke gasps. “Don’t do that. I told you when we started this. I _told_ you. Cheating is the one thing I can’t forgive. You know that. Finn…he…he destroyed me, Lexa, you _know_ that. He …and you…I _told_ you.”

 

“I know,” Lexa says, shaking her head as she walks back over to her. She reaches for Clarke’s shoulders, but Clarke shrugs her off and crosses arms, folding into herself. “Clarke. Sweetheart, I need you to hear me. Listen to me. I did not cheat on you. I did not kiss that girl.”

 

“Please, just get out, Lexa. Just leave.”

 

“I’m not going to do that.”

 

Clarke looks back up at her, eyes ablaze. “I’m not asking you.”

 

“You can’t kick me out. This is my house too.”

 

Clarke unfurls, standing at her full height, though still she’s a good six inches shorter than her wife. “Get out of my house.”

 

“No.”

 

“Get out of my—“

 

“No!”

 

“Get out of my fucking house!”

 

“Mommy?”

 

They both whip around, stunned into silence by their little girl’s presence. She’s beautiful, a spitting image of both of them with her wild brown hair and bright, blue eyes. Her thumb is inching towards her mouth and her blankie drags along the floor behind her as she shuffles into the kitchen, sleepy and warm and innocent.

 

“Baby,” Clarke breathes, eyes flitting over to Lexa briefly, “Hi. Why are you up, sweetheart?”

 

“Is loud.”

 

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”

 

Lexie shuffles forward with her tiny, bare feet. She wanders over to Lexa and presses her body into her leg, wrapping around her with her free arm. Clarke bites at her cheek and Lexa tries and fails to hide the whimper in her throat. She reaches down and gently runs her fingers through her toddler’s hair. She looks at Clarke, silently pleading with her, but Clarke just reaches down and sweeps Lexie up into her arms.

 

“Let’s get you back to bed, love.” She presses her to her shoulder and cups her hand over her little ear. “I want you gone by the time I get back.”

 

//

 

When Clarke walks back into the kitchen, her feet heavy and heart heavier, Lexa is nowhere to be found. The manila envelope is still on the kitchen island, but there’s a yellow sticky note on it with Lexa’s familiar chicken scratch.

 

_Clarke,_

_I love you. I will fight for you._

_I refuse to give up on us, and_

_I will show you it isn’t what you think._

_Please call me when you’re ready._

_Love,_

_L_

The words blur the longer she looks at it, tears stinging her eyes until there’s no point anymore. She wraps her shawl around her tighter as she walks into the living room and wanders over to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on Manhattan. High above it all, with the lights and cars so small against the black blanket of night, she suddenly feels so alone.

 

She grips her chest as a sob escapes her. It brings her to her knees, one hand braced against the cold glass of the window in front of her. She sits there like that for more minutes than she can count, shaking and crying and wondering how they’d gotten here. What she could have done different. Why Lexa had felt the need to—maybe if she’d been more affectionate. Maybe if she’d been more understanding when Lexa was stressed. Maybe if they’d had sex more often. Maybe if—

 

Maybe this was just always meant to b her fate. First Finn. Now Lexa.

 

//

 

Its cold and wet when Lexa steps out of her office late Friday night. It’d been a week, and still there’d been no call from Clarke. She hadn’t heard her daughter’s laugh or seen her smile in just as long and that was perhaps the hardest. That, and the way an empty bed felt after more than a decade of sleeping next to someone. Not just someone. The love of her life.

 

She recedes into her long, black coat as she waits impatiently for the valet. She’s short tempered and bitter. She’d snapped at more employees than she could count today, fired another, though he had been asking for it, and cancelled a meeting with one of her most important business partners simply for being 5 minutes late to the call.

 

Because she was sad. _Is_ sad. So sad that it radiates through every part of her body, weighing down her bones like lead, clogging her mind like fog, making it impossible to want to continue on with each day.

 

It’s like this that Raven finds her nearly drenched from the rain on the curb of 5th Avenue.

 

“So it’s true then?”

 

Lexa pulls her head out of her phone and stares blankly for a moment before registering Raven and her question.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You broke her heart. Cheated on her?”

 

“Not now, Raven.”

 

“What’s the matter with you?”

 

“It’s not what you think—“

 

“Just tell me I’m wrong, Lexa. Tell me you didn’t break her.”

 

Lexa pockets her phone and squares up, giving Raven a good, long look. “I didn’t.”

 

“So I’m wrong?”

 

“You’re wrong.”

 

“And Nylah? Echo? The photographic evidence? I’m guessing they’re wrong too.”

 

“That’s not evidence and you fucking know it. Anyone could have fabricated that photo. My _child_ could have fabricated that photo.”

 

Raven scoffs. “To what end?”

 

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Echo and Nylah. They seem all to eager to offer up their side of the story.”

 

“I hope for your sake you’re right. Because if you’re lying to me. If you cheated on her, after everything, after Finn…I will end you.”

 

Lexa steps into her space. “Are you threatening me, Reyes? I hope for _your_ sake that wasn’t a threat.”

 

Raven takes a step back, Lexa being an admittedly imposing figure, but she steels her face and crosses her arms. “Just prove me wrong, Lexa. For the love of god. ”

 

//

 

“When’s momma coming back?”

 

Clarke swallows, her hands pausing in the soapy, bath water for a moment before renewing their ministrations. She scoops a cup up and gently pours it over Lexie’s damp curls. “Um.” She works at the knot in her throat. “You’ll see her soon,” she says. A half truth.

 

“I miss momma.”

 

Clarke sinks back onto her heels and buries her nose into her shoulder, clenching her eyes shut.

 

“Mommy?

 

“Mhm?”

 

“Why mad at momma?”

 

“I’m not mad, baby.”

 

“But you yewwed.”

 

“We weren’t yelling, baby, we were just talking. I’m sorry it was loud.”

 

“Can momma wead story night?”

 

“How about mommy reads you a story tonight?”

  
“No momma!” Lexie slams her little fists into the water and bursts into tears, wailing through all of Clarke’s attempts to calm her down.

 

Clarke doesn’t behave much differently when she finally crawls into bed hours later, still damp from Lexie’s outburst in the bath, but too depressed to care.

 

//

 

A knock at her door, way too late at night, has Echo tiptoeing towards her door with vase in hand. She’s ready to smash it over the intruder’s head when suddenly Lexa’s wet face pops into view through her front window.

 

She opens the door and lowers the face, smirking slightly. “You look like shit, Woods.”

 

“Why’d you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

Lexa stares at her, almost rabid. Her eyes are red and swollen, her coat heavy with weeks worth of rain that refused to let up. “Don’t fucking play with me, Echo. Why are you doing this to me? How could you be so cruel?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lexa, and I suggest you get off my property before I call the cops on you for trespassing.”

 

 “Just give me a god damn answer. Lie to me, I don’t fucking care. Just give me an answer. Please.”

 

Echo leans in and chuckles. “You know what the best part about it is? I hardly had to do a thing. Clearly, your wife must have such little trust in you that all it takes is a stock photo of a girl with high cheek bones and brown hair. I find that hilarious, don’t you?”

 

“I will fucking—“

 

“Ah, ah, ah. Ae you threatening me, Lexa? That’s verbal assault. Wouldn’t want that on the record would we? Might make getting any kind of joint custody over little Lexa Jr. kind of difficult.”

 

//

 

Clarke stares at her closet, trying to find it somewhere in herself to care enough about the day to get dressed. She weeds through her clothes, noting the very limited amount of options she has due to the growing pile of dirty laundry in the corner.

 

She pushes hanger after hanger mindlessly aside until her fingers grasp something silky and she stops.

 

She runs the lilac satin through her fingers, tears automatically springing to her eyes as she caressed the tie. Lexa’s favorite. The very tie she’d been wearing _that_ night.

 

//

 

_She wakes up to Lexa’s lips so soft and gentle on hers. Kissing her awake, she’s rewarded with the most beautiful smile sparkling all the way up into her favorite pair of green eyes._

_“Good morning, my love.”_

_Clarke smiles and stretches, chuckling when Lexa takes the opportunity to kiss and nip at the breadth of her exposed neck as she arches into awareness._

_“What time is it?”_

_Lexa climbs on top of her, wet hair draping down to cascade around their faces. “Almost six.”_

_“How was your run?”_

_“Good.”_

_“And your shower?”_

_“Missed you in it.”_

_“You couldve’ woken me up.”_

_Lexa hums as she drags her lips down Clarke’s bare chest. She kisses her sternum. “I wanted to let you sleep. I know Lexie was up with nightmares again.”_

_“I can’t believe Raven let her watch that movie.”_

_“Don’t worry, I already spoke with her.”_

_Lexa circles her belly button._

_  
“You’re such a good mom.”_

_Lexa kisses her pubic bone, then slides her hands underneath Clarke, opening her up._

_“So are you.”_

_Lexa’s tongue parts her and Clarke gasps, head jerking off the pillow as her hand tangles itself into Lexa’s hair. “Shit.”_

_“You taste so good, baby.”_

_Clarke searches for something else to latch onto, and finds Lexa’s hand. She gets a gentle squeeze before it’s gone again._

_“Lex-oh. Shit.” Lexa pushes into her, slow and deep. One finger. Then two, easily. Despite the early morning time, Clarke is thoroughly wet and warm._

_Making Clarke come is easy. Lexa knows her wife like she nows her own body. She takes pride in knowing her wife. Her pleasure. Her tells. Getting Clarke there is easy, but she takes her sweet time, stretching out the hour they have until it feels like days, and Clarke can barely catch her breath._

_Lexa kisses her where she’s swollen and pink when she’s done, earning a little jerk of Clarke’s hips that makes her smile. When she crawls back up the beautiful, naked expanse of Clarke’s body, Clarke is eager to kiss her. To taste herself on her wife’s lips and bask in the afterglow of her wife’s arms wrapped tightly around her._

_Lexa kisses her on the head._

_“Well good morning to you too,” Clarke sighs._

_“I love you so much.”_

_Clarke kisses her. On the lips. On the nose. “I love you too, Lex.”_

_//_

_“What are you gonna wear today?”_

_“Pick it out for me?”_

_Clarke smiles and jumps off the bed. She loves this. Their routine. Lexa’s trust. “What’ve you got?”_

_“The usual.”_

_“Any meetings?”_

_“Oh. Shit, yeah. I’m meeting this man after work today. Old guard type. Takes his burbon on the rocks. That kind.”_

_  
“So then I’m thinking muted tones”_

_Lexa smiles and comes up behind her, cradling her. “That sounds great.”_

_//_

_“Let me help.” Clarke swats Lexa’s hands away and adjusts the knot of Lexa’s tie. “There.” When she looks up, she’s met with such adoration in Lexa’s soft, green eyes it makes her knees weak._

_“I thought we said muted.”_

_Clarke grins. “This is muted.”_

_“It’s purple.”_

_Clarke hums._

_“Clarke—“_

_“It’s lilac.”_

_Lexa smiles. “Lilac.”_

_“Mhm.”_

_“It’s my favorite.”_

_Clarke smiles and runs her hand down it, smoothing it into her vest. “It is.”_

_“Do you remember?”_

_Clarke blushes and can’t help but recall the first time she’d encountered this tie on Lexa. That late night at Lexa’s internship office, fresh out of college. The way her mouth had watered at the look of it around Lexa’s neck, the way it softened the tan skin of her bare torso as Clarke stripped her out of white Oxford shirt and pulled their bodies together._

_She kisses Lexa to hide her blush._

_Lexa chuckles. “So you do, then.”_

_“Of course I do.”_

_“It’s my favorite.”_

_Clarke laughs and rolls her eyes, tucking herself into Lexa’s arms. “It’s mine too.”_

_“Momma!”_

_  
They pull a part, smiling as their little, wild thing comes bounding into their bedroom, hair flying in every direction._

_“Mommy! Brefast!”_

_Lexa smiles and scoops her up, saving Clarke from the tornado of shrieks and squeals. She squeezes her tight and peppers her with kisses until her daughter is a giggling mess and pressing her little hands against Lexa’s face._

_“I’ll get breakfast started while you get ready,” she says chuckling as she tries to avoid those little hands now poking at her cheeks._

_“Okay.” But Clarke doesn’t move, she stands there, one hand on her wife’s back, the other stroking through the fine baby hairs framing her little girl’s face, beaming._

_“Pwetty momma,” Lexie says, taking Lexa’s tie between her tiny fingers._

_“You like it?”_

_Lexie beams. “I wike it!”_

_Clarke’s head falls to Lexa’s shoulder as she watches on, so happy she could almost cry._

_//_

Clarke blinks tears onto her cheeks and releases the tie before deciding that a t-shirt and jeans would be good enough for this day.

 

//

 

When Clarke walks down the hallway late Wednesday evening, wet and miserable, she’s so surprised to see Lexa’s sitting there with her head against the door, she almost drops all her bags of groceries.

 

Her wife appears to be asleep. Her mouth hangs slightly open as her chest rises gently up and down in her disheveled suit. Clarke clocks the tie—a plain, silver, skinny thing. It could mean only one thing. Lawyers.

 

//

 

_“That color’s boring. Wear this one.” Clarke holds up a loud, teal tie from the bottom of Lexa’s tie rack._

_“I wish I could, baby, but I’m meeting with the lawyers today. Lawyers mean professional and professional means monotone.”_

_“But you hate grey.”_

_“I also hate lawyers,” Lexa says, winking._

_“Still looks good.”_

_“Think so?”_

_Clarke nods and wraps herself around her wife. “My wife looks good anything.”_

_//_

Her stomach plummets before she’s able to catch it. This is what she wanted. This is what she asked for. She isn’t allowed to be upset at the idea of Lexa having potentially met with divorce lawyers.

 

“Clarke.”

 

Clarke’s eyes rise from the floor and fall on Lexa’s pale face, the dark circles under her eyes, the weight loss accentuating her jaw and cheek bones.  “What are you doing here?”

 

Lexa scrambles upwards and hands her a slim, white envelope. “Here.”

 

“What’s this?”

 

“A check.”

 

“A check? Why?”

 

Lexa swallows and runs a hand through her wet hair. Clarke almost smiles at the familiarity of her wife’s nervous tick. “I just found out Anya went behind my back and froze our joint account. That’s for Lexie. Or you…you know, whatever. Whatever you guys might need it for. Until I can get the account unfrozen.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke looks at the envelope. “I thought…I thought that was you.”

 

Lexa tisks. “I would never do that to you.”

 

Clarke looks at her and Lexa gives her a small, timid smile. “Let me know if you need more.”

 

For a moment, Clarke wants to slip into the warmth of Lexa’s familiar sweetness. Her gentleness. She open the envelope and pulls the check out. Her eyes widen and she gasps. “Lexa. This is too much.”

 

“It’s yours.”

 

Clarke shakes her head, eyes stinging. “No, it’s not. This is _your_ money.”

 

“It’s ours.”

 

Clarke’s head falls back as she blinks up at the ceiling, fingers aching under the weight of her grocery bags.

 

“Please, Clarke. Let me help. I know how hard it is being a stay-at-home mom.”

 

“I have income from my paintings.”

 

“It’s not steady.”

 

“It’s steady enough.”

 

“Just let me help, Clarke. At least until the account is back online.”

 

Clarke lets the grocery bags fall and runs her hands over her face, thankful that there’s no make-up there to be careful of. Her fingers comb through her hair, and by the time she looks back up at Lexa, her wife’s eye are shiny.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispers, wet and small.

 

“Stop. Don’t—“ Clarke swallows thickly, “don’t.”

 

“I’m sorry. I just. I miss you.”

 

Clarke breaks and she lets the tears fall. “I miss you too.”

 

“I want to come home.”

 

“I’m not ready yet.”

 

“Yet?” Lexa asks, hope tinting her voice.

 

“I haven’t forgiven you.”

 

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

 

Somehow this seems to sober Clarke, and suddenly the anger is back. As if just saying the word “cheat” made it real again. “I need you to go.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Go, Lexa.”

 

Lexa doesn’t move, just turns her eyes to the floor, hands coming together to pick nervously at her finger tips.  “This isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t treat me like this.”

 

“You cheated on me.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“I know. And that hurts so much.”

 

Clarke blinks, a sliver of something new creeping up into her throat. Something that makes her hands go cold and her mouth go dry. Something that tastes an awful lot like doubt. She swallows the feeling down and forces herself to look at her wife.

 

“You’re hurting me,” Lexa whispers, her eyes wide and full of tears.

 

Clarke’s lip trembles as her heart tears itself to pieces. She wants to apologize, but her anger keeps her silent.

 

 “But I’m not going to stop. I’m not. So either you tell me you never want to see me again, or you work with me.”

 

Clarke whimpers and leans herself against the wall, closing her eyes. “I want to believe you,” she cries. “I…I want to more than anything. But every time I close my eyes I think of you touching her. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

 

She flinches when Lexa’s fingers touch her cheeks, but she relaxes as soon as she realizes she’s being caressed. Her eyes open and Lexa is inches away, her gaze flitting over her face a mile a minute as the pads of her fingers trace the curve of her features.

 

“I would never hurt you.”

 

Lexa’s words ache through Clarke. _You’re hurting me._  “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Lexa presses their foreheads together. “Just trust me.”

 

Clarke’s eyes fall to her lips. She loves those lips. Or loved. No…loves. Still loves. She licks her own and tries to quell the yearning inside of her. 

 

“Trust me,” Lexa begs, her hands resting unthreateningly on either side of Clarke’s neck. Her thumb occasionally sweeps across her jaw line. “Please trust me.”

 

Clarke takes a deep breath and nods. “I want to.”

 

Lexa smiles, hope bubbling in her stomach.  But then—

 

“But I can’t.”

 

It’s like a punch to the stomach. For both of them. Lexa’s thumb stills, she stands back abruptly, recoiling in such a way that Clarke instantly feels cold with her distance.

 

When Clarke looks at her, she’s frightened to see an old lifelessness to Lexa’s eyes. A numbness to her face. It’d been years since Clarke had seen that look. Years since that Lexa—terrified and bitter and angry—had sat alone at lunch every day in high school, flinching at every passing teenager who’d walked too close to her. Years since that Lexa—aggressive and distrusting and vulnerable—had stumbled into the girl’s bathroom, bloody lip and nose dripping all over the sink next to Clarke’s.

 

Suddenly, it’s as if Clarke is looking at seventeen-year-old Lexa, bullied and broken and utterly lost, and she can’t help the overwhelming urge she has to protect and love and sooth. The same urge that had found her holding a whimpering Lexa that day in the girl’s bathroom as she dabbed at her busted lip.

 

But unlike that Lexa, so needy for love and attention, so pliant in Clarke’s arms, this Lexa is hard and cold and angry. This Lexa steps away from her, heartbreak raging like a hurricane in her eyes.

 

“Go get them.”

 

“What?”

 

“Go get the fucking papers. I’ll sign your fucking papers.”

 

Clarke freezes and her heart beat kicks into overdrive.

 

Lexa laughs and it sends chills up Clarke’s spine. “This is some fucking life. My parents, dead. My wife hates me and wants a divorce. My friends…well they’re of course on my wife’s side and just can’t help themselves. They’ve wanted to hate me for so long. Their precious Clarke being corrupted by the foster kid with too many problems. I bet they’re just having a fucking field day with this.”

 

“Lex, that’s not true—“

 

“Oh and did I tell you? Found out last week Echo’s mother has been skimming money off the top _way_ longer than just the past year. State wants to indict me too since I didn’t notice it sooner which means I _must_ be complicit. Guess I was too busy cheating on my wife to notice my CFO scamming me for years. I spoke with the lawyers again today about testifying against her in court, but you’re probably right, there’s no way her daughter could have a big enough vendetta against me to try to tear my life apart. As for my own daughter? What daughter? Haven’t seen her in months. Probably has no idea who I am anymore.” Lexa laughs. “Who the fuck was I in a past life to land this shit pile of an existence? I must’ve been pretty fucking terrible. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

 

“Lex—“

 

“No, you know what? I’m done. I can’t. I tried, Clarke, and I’m tired. I’m so tired. I can’t be here any more, so just send me your papers. I’ll sign them, whatever you want. But if you think for one second you’re going to keep my daughter away from me any longer, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

 

And with that, she’s gone faster than Clarke can register the calamity.

 

//

 

  
“Can you tell me more about it?” Clarke swirls her salad around on her plate, eyes occasionally glancing up Echo. “I just…need to hear it. You know? To make it real.”

 

“Clarke, you don’t need to hear that bullshit,” Octavia sighs, “Just sign the papers and get it over with. You need to be trying to move on.”

 

“It’s just hard to…it’s just surreal. I just want to hear it again before I sign. I want to know exactly what happened.”

 

“You know what happened,” Raven retorts. “She doesn’t deserve justification. You’re being too nice as it is.”

 

“How am I being to nice? I haven’t so much as talked to her in months.”

 

“You’re letting her see Lexie. That’s too nice. She doesn’t deserve it.”

 

“She’s her mother. She’s _named_ after her. I couldn’t keep them apart any longer.”

 

“You’re her mother.”

 

Clarke sighs. “She’s just as much Lexa’s as she is mine. I kept her away for too long as it is. They were both miserable.”

 

“And where’s Lexie now?”

 

“With Lexa. Can we not talk about Lexie right now? I just want to know I’m doing the right thing.”  

 

“I totally get it, Clarke,” Echo smiles. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” She places her hand over Clarke’s for a moment and squeezes.

 

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “So…about that night.”

 

“Well you know. She was drunk.”

 

“Drunk? I don’t remember you saying that the first time. She didn’t come home drunk.”  

 

“Mmm, yeah. Yeah, she was pretty far gone, according to Nylah. Had about three Long Islands.”

 

Clarke frowns.  Maybe Echo had the drink wrong.

 

“When Nylah cut her off, she took off somewhere.”

 

“What happened to the guy?”

 

“What guy?”

 

“The guy she was meeting? The older guy, grey hair, likes bourbon?”

 

“Oh. Oh, he was long gone by that point. Meeting was short.”

 

//

 

_Lexa trudges through the door, rubbing at her head, but immediately perks when Clarke wanders out of the kitchen with Lexie in her arms._

_  
“What are my girls doing up? It’s so late!”_

_Clarke smiles and greets her in the foyer, raising up for a kiss. “This little one had another nightmare.”_

_“Oh no. My poor baby. What’s goin on in there?” Lexa asks, poking around Lexie’s ears as if she can see into her head. Lexie bursts into giggles_ _and snuggles further into Clarke’s neck to escape the inspection._

_“How was your meeting?”_

_Lexa sighs and drapes her briefcase and jacket over a chair in the living room before plopping down and dragging Clarke and Lexie into her lap. “Long. This guy would not shut up. Just went on and on about his business theories which are decades outdated.”_

_“Bummer. So no luck?”_

_“Well, not quite. He’s got some interesting insight on the history of engineering firm stocks and their fluctuations over the years. Might be useful for our investments team.”_

_“Well that’s good!”_

_“Das good, momma!” Lexie echoes, clapping her little hands together._

_Clarke chuckles and grabs Lexa by the tie, their favorite tie, and kisses her sound on the lips._

//

 

“Clarke?”

 

“I’m sorry.” Clarke shakes her head and frowns. “You said the meeting was short?”

 

“I mean, seemed to be. I didn’t see him around any.”

 

“What time did you get there?”

 

“Oh I don’t know.” Echo checks her watch as if it’ll help her remember. “Around eight.”

 

“Lexa was home around nine. Doesn’t give her much time to fuck around,” Clarke thinks aloud.

 

“Well no, but she’s was like well into it by the time I showed up. Had this girl all over her. Don’t know how either of them were getting enough air.”

 

Clarke closes her eyes and tries not to vomit at the image, her heart beating heavily against her sternum.

 

“That’s enough,” Raven cuts in, but Clarke waves her off, shaking her head.

 

“No it’s okay. Keep going.”

 

Echo smiles sympathetically. “You sure?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“Well they’re making out for a while. I’m sitting there stunned, like I don’t know what to do. Do I interfere? Do I let it go? I don’t know. So I’m just kind of like watching, frozen in place, wondering what the hell is happening. I’ve just about worked up the courage to go over there in chew her out when I see this bitch leading Lexa out by her tie. Like actually pulling on her tacky, red tie.”

 

Clarke freezes, and her blood runs cold. Her heart thumps wildly as her eyes come up slowly to meet Echo. “What?”

 

“Yeah. I remember, because I remember thinking that if Lexa just happened to choke, I wouldn’t be torn up about it,” Echo laughs.

 

“This girl was pulling Lexa by the tie?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Her red tie?”

 

“Yep. And Lexa totally dug it.”

 

Clarke lowers her fork and wipes her mouth, gathering her words and thoughts. She turns to Echo, her eyes hard. “Lexa doesn’t own a red tie.”

 

Echo’s eyes go wide. “Oh, well. Maybe it was maroon. The lighting was dark, I don’t know the exact color.”

 

Clarke nods, and Echo seems to relax, but Clarke’s not done. She shifts forward and bores into the fidgety woman across from her. “Lexa doesn’t drink Long Islands. She’s allergic to black tea. And her meeting with the business man was not short. It was long. So long, Lexa came home with a headache.

 

Echo stutters and tries to back track, but Clarke is done. She’s furious and embarrassed and ashamed. She shove her chair back and stand, grabbing her purse. 

 

“And Echo?” Clarke takes her drink and dumps it over Echo’s head. “Her tie was fucking _lilac._ ”

 

Clarke storms away from the table and jogs to her car, fumbling through her purse for her phone. She’s desperate to reach Lexa. Desperate to apologize, to explain, to grovel and do whatever it takes to save her marriage.

 

“Fuck!” She growls when she can’t locate her cell. She slides into her car and dumps the contents out onto the passenger seat, diving for it once it became visible.

 

She’s ready to dial when she pauses, noticing the seven missed calls and nine text messages.

 

With trembling fingers she opens each one.

 

_Lincoln [12:23pm]: Clarke, you there? Pick up your phone._

_Anya [12:23]: Hey, you need to call me ASAP._

_Lincoln [12:25]: Seriously. Call me._

_Lincoln [12:30]: Where are you? Call me, it’s an emergency._

_Bellamy [12:35]: Don’t panic, but as soon as you get this, call me._

_Lincoln [12:36]: CLARKE PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE_

_Kane [12:40]: Hey, your mom and I are with Lexie, don’t worry._

_Anya [12:42]: Clarke, please. Look I know you guys are fighting, but I can’t do this alone. Please. Call me back._

//

 

When she pulls up, there’s ringing in her ears, and everything seems to be slightly off its axis, as if she’s just spun in circles and  beenasked to stand on one foot. There are fire trucks and police cars everywhere, and for a moment, Clarke is frozen in place. Her eye wide with terror, her grip on the steering wheel so firm it hurts, but she’s too petrified to notice.

 

A teenager running by her car on the phone yanks her back into reality, and then she’s tumbling out of the car, her legs barely able to keep her up right as she stumbles towards the thick of the crowd. 

 

Someone grabs her, and she yelps and flails, suddenly conscious and aware and overwhelmed by what she’s walking towards. She fights the grip on her wrist, but then she’s being tugged out of the crowd and towards the back of a fire truck, Lincolns horrified face swimming into view.

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Where is she? Where is she, Lincoln? Where is she, where’s my wife?”

 

“Clarke, you need to listen to me.” He fights his tears to get his words out. “Listen to me.”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“It’s not good, Clarke. Okay? It’s not good. It’s really, bad. It’s really fucking bad, so you have to be strong okay? You have to be strong.”

 

“Oh god,” Clarke wails, “oh god. What—what happened?”

 

Lincoln drags her wordlessly towards a fireman. “This is Clarke. This is her wife. She needs to see her.”

 

Clarke yanks her arm out of Lincoln’s grip and tries to catch her breath. “Where is she? What happened? Please—”

 

“M’am, I need you to be calm. I need you to be calm before I let you in there, can you do that?”

 

Clarke’s close to hyperventilating, but she digs her nails into her palms and nods.

 

“Your wife was struck by a car. She’s been pinned between it and a telephone pole, and we’re working to cut her out, but it’s a slow process. Her sister is with her right now trying to keep her conscious while we cut her out. That’s what we need right now, can you handle that?”

 

Clarke’s hands fall to her knees and she gasps for air, but finds none.

 

“Clarke—“ Lincoln puts his hand on her back, but the touch makes her sick and she empties her stomach onto the asphalt until she’s trembling so hard she can barely stand.

 

“She’s not ready,” the fireman says, “take her back.”

 

“No!” Clarke jerks and pushes herself up, eyes wide and wild. “No, I’m fine! I’m fine. Please. Please, god, I need to see her. Take me to her. Please, I have to see her.”

 

//

 

The first thing she sees is the black car, crunched up like an accordion against the telephone pole. Then she she sees the beads of shattered class, metal bits strewn about like some perfectly constructed movie scene.

 

The next thing she sees is Anya’s back, small and curved and shaking.

 

“Anya—“

 

Anya turns, her face a mess of fear and pain. “Clarke, hey,” Anya sniffs, reaching out for her. “Come’re, come’re she’s been asking for you.”

 

Clarke can’t move for fear of passing out, but Anya latches onto her hands and squeezes. “It’s okay, come’re. It’s okay.”

  
Clarke shuffles forward tentatively, her hand trembling in Anya’s grasp as she approaches.

 

“Here,” Anya shifts and pulls her down to the ground, but as soon as Anya had moved, Clarke had frozen, her heart clenching excruciatingly inside her chest as Lexa’s face came into view.

 

“Oh, Lex—“ She gasps, her hands flying to her chest and mouth as she gets in close.

 

Lexa’s mouth is covered in blood, her face a ghostly white in contrast. Clarke can tell she’s tired, or maybe in pain, because her eyes struggle to focus and are so dim they look grey.

 

“Lexie, baby,” she sniffs and quickly wipes at her eyes, trying not to scare Lexa with her tears, “hey, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart.”

 

Lexa’s eyes roll to her, her hand—pinned up near her chest—shakes as she struggles to move it. Her mouth opens, a whimper comes out, but any possibility for words are snuffed out by the cough of blood that trickles down her chin with the effort.  
  
“Shh, don’t speak. It’s okay, don’t speak.”

 

Lexa continues to flex her hand with what little control she has until Clarke understands. With a choked back sob, she scoots closer and wraps her fingers around her wife’s red hand. “I’m here. Baby, I’m here.”

 

“’Scuse me,” a paramedic near by murmurs as they maneuver around behind the pole to adjust Lexa’s head slightly.

 

“Lexa, hey, no don’t close your eyes. Don’t close you’re eyes, you know you can’t.” Anya’s voice brings Clarke back to Lexa’s face, her heart picking up at the sight of Lexa’s eyes drooping.

 

“Hey, Lexa, keep those eyes open,” the paramedic says, reaching over to tap Lexa gently on the cheek.

 

Lexa groans, but does as she’s told, eyes immediately finding their way back to Clarke. She opens her mouth again, and the paramedic is forced to lean back over to place a suction in her mouth. The sound it makes draining the blood from her airways makes Clarke want to hurl again.

 

“Can she breathe? Is she in pain?”

 

“We’re doing the best we can,” the solemn woman murmurs, focusing on adjusting the cannula in Lexa’s nose.

 

“When will they be done? What’s taking so long?”

 

“We have to cut the car away in pieces to avoid jostling her.”

 

“Is she in pain?” She turns to Lexa and runs a palm over her forehead and hair. “Are you in pain, sweetheart?”

 

Lexa’s whimper overshadows whatever the paramedic’s answer is, and the fact that Clarke can’t scoop her up and hold her close makes her dizzy. She gets as close as she can and runs her hands over her cheeks and neck and everywhere she can reach without agitating, soothing and wiping away the blood as best she can.

 

“Hey—“ Anya presses her hand gently to Clarke’s back, “I’m gonna go be with Lincoln for a bit. Update him.”

 

Clarke nods and moves to let Anya in close.

 

“Hey, kid. I’m gonna go keep Lincoln updated, okay? I’ll be back. I love you.”

 

Lexa nods and gives her a weak smile, and then they’re alone. Clarke presses their foreheads together and cups her wife’s damp, freezing cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, hanging on as if she can make up for lost time through touch. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, Lexa. Do you hear me?”

 

Lexa’s eyes close just long enough for a few tears to spill out, but she nods and nuzzles weakly closer.

 

“I know now, okay? I know you didn’t do it. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, I—“ she can’t finish, too overcome and needing to breathe through the pain in her chest. A man in scrubs kneels beside them and sticks his arm in between them, check on Lexa’s pulse. He shines a light in her eyes and squeezes her finger tips, but all Clarke can see is the steady trickle of blood seeping out of the corner of Lexa’s mouth.

 

“Why is she bleeding?” She asks, hands resuming their soothing as soon as he has backed out of the way.

 

“It’s likely internal from the impact. We won’t know until we can get in there.”

 

“Are you almost done?”

 

“The problem is, the car was pierced by this street sign on impact—this thing, right here—“ he points to a thick piece of metal sticking out the back of the telephone pole. “It’s going through the pole and into the car. We can’t tell if it missed Lexa here or not, so we have to be very careful about cutting around it.”

 

“Is there anything I can do to make her more comfortable?”

 

The man frowns sympathetically at her and squeezes her shoulder. “You’re doing what you can.”

 

“I want to do more. I need to.”

 

He stands, and instantly Clarke misses his presence, as if just the fact that he’s a doctor makes things safer and more helpful.  “Just keep her conscious. Keep her positive.” He bends over and peers into Lexa’s eyes again. “You’re doing great, Lexa. We’re almost there.” And with that, he walks away leaving Clarke completely overwhelmed. She turns back to Lexa who brow if furrowed either with worry of discomfort.

 

“Hey you,” she whispers, stroking Lexa’s face. “You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

 

For the first time, Lexa manages to sputter out one coherent sound—

 

“Lexie?”

 

Clarke smiles and brushes sticky strands of hair out of Lexa’s face. “She’s okay. She’s with my mom, I spoke to them on the way over.”

 

Lexa nods, a sigh of relief doing the opposite of actually relieving her as she erupts into a fit of clogged coughs.

  
“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay. Take it easy, it’s okay.” It’s weak and watery and unconvincing, but Clarke clings to her own words like a life line as she presses their foreheads together again. She wipes at Lexa’s mouth, and without a second thought, kisses her—gently, desperately, apologetically. Whatever she can manage, she conveys into that kiss with all of her might. “I love you, Lexa,” she says in between, “I love you.” She can’t say it enough, terrified that this is it. Terrified that this is the last time she’ll every say that to Lexa—that she’d wasted all those months of possible “I love you”s, months of morning kisses and evening cuddles, months of family days at the park, months of sweet dates at new restaurants, months of sweeter love making after quietly paying their babysitter, checking on their little girl and undressing each other with quiet chuckles and easy embraces—all lost, wasted, on some cruel scheme by people she should have never trusted over her wife.

 

“Lexa—“ Clarke pulls away from Lexa’s lips, trying hard not to shudder against the metallic taste now coating her own mouth. She wipes at Lexa’s lips and chin uselessly.

 

Lexa whimpers at the loss of contact. It reminds Clarke so dearly of Lexa’s early morning whines—her sleepy sounds so defiant against the rising sun, so like their daughter with her wild hair and jaw breaking yawns—only this time, they’re not tangled together, soft and flushed under the warm blankets. They’re not fighting an alarm on an early Saturday, or kissing just “one more time.” This time, Lexa is cold and bloody. This time, she’s fighting for her life. And every kiss Clarke presses to her lips may be the last, so Lexa doesn’t have to ask for another.

 

But Clarke stops because she needs to talk to her. She needs to hear her, to connect with her. She needs her to know. Needs her understand that Lexa is her _life._ That there’s no world in which she could possibly live without her.

 

“Lexa—“

 

Lexa whines again and for once, Clarke chuckles, wiping at her tears. “Okay,” she concedes and presses back in, kissing her until, inevitably, Lexa begins coughing again. “Baby,” Clarke whines, hating the idea of making Lexa’s struggle worse. “Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.” She shimmies out of her coat and tucks it around her as best she can. She peers over at the fireman and their saws, close enough now to feel the wind created by their rotating blades. “We’re almost there. We’re almost there. And then we’re gonna get you all patched up okay?”

 

Lexa smiles sadly and shakes her head, weakly gripping onto Clarke’s hand. “ I’m gonna die here—“

 

“No. No, that’s not—no, Lexa. Do you hear me? You’re not going to die here. You can’t—“ she breaks down, shaking her head, “you can’t die, okay? I need you. I need you, I love you so much. I was such a fool, Lexa. I was so stupid and I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, you don’t have to, but you can’t leave me, okay? I don’t want to live in a world without you. I can’t. I need you.  Lexie needs you.”

 

//

 

“Lexie—can you drink for me? Please, for grandma?” Abby encourages the juice box closer to her grandchild’s face, but the toddler is stoic and ashen, her unblinking eyes trained on the door of the exam room.

 

Abby wipes at her tear-stained chinks, scrubs at the dirt and dried blood along her jaw—busy work to distract herself from the pitiful sight in front of her and the terrifying unknowns of her daughter-in-law’s state.

“Hey.” Marcus Kane walks in with a gentle smile, suit case, and light blue blankie. “I grabbed this while I was at it. Clarke texted about it just as I was leaving. ” He tucks a suitcase full of Clarke and Lexa’s clothes into the corner behind a chair before approaching Lexie with the blanket.

 

“How is Le—how are things going? Did she say?”

 

He shakes his head and drapes the well-loved fabric around Lexie’s neck. “I texted her letting her know I was grabbing things from the house. She thought Lexie might want her blankie. And then radio silence.”

 

Abby sighs. “I’m sure she’s overwhelmed.”

 

He nods and tries a few more times to get Lexie to drink, but the little girl is intent on keeping a watch on the door, waiting for Clarke and Lexa to walk through and scoop her up into their arms like they always did after a nightmare.

 

//

 

“Cold,” Lexa murmurs as the firemen slowly began to pull pieces of car away from her body.

 

“I know, baby,” Clarke says, brushing at her tears, “I know. Almost there.”

 

Lexa’s head lulls to Clarke’s chest, heavy and hot with fever. An occasional whimper makes it out of her, but otherwise the scene is eerily quiet save for the jarring sounds of scraping and tearing metal.

 

But then it all stops and shadow overcomes them. Clarke looks up and meets the dirty, concerned face of a fireman.

 

“Ma’am, we’re ready to move the last piece. I’m going to need you to step aside.”

 

It tears Clarke up inside, makes her blood run cold and her heart pound, but with one last kiss, she takes a step back and watches.

 

It’s like a choreographed, terrifying dance from hell. Their trusty paramedic and doctor kneels on either side of Lexa, holding her in place, stabilizing things and giving each other murmured warnings.

 

A team of firemen carefully latch onto the last bit of bumper, and on “three” begin peeling it back at an agonizing pace.

 

Her eyes flutter back and forth from the firemen to Lexa, trying to keep track of everything all at once, but it’s almost impossible with the quickly setting sun.

It’s the “oh shit,” that has her attention focusing solely on Lexa, quickly closing the distance between the two of them before the sight stops her dead in her tracks.  

 

“Oh god.”

 

The doctor looks up, a well-practiced calm washing over his face that’s infuriating to Clarke. “It’s okay, we can work with this.”

 

Clarke scoffs, her eyes quickly watering over as she dejectedly gestures towards the metal intersecting Lexa’s torso, a choked-off objection whining in her throat. She falls to her knees next to Lexa and holds Lexa’s head close.

 

“Clarke—“ Lexa whispers.

 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 

“I want to say bye to Lexie.”

 

“You can talk to her at the hospital.”

  
“Clarke—“

 

“No!” Clarke scares the both of them with her outcry and she quickly falls into tears, feeling guilty and scared and devastated. “No,” she follows up quietly, “you don’t need to say good bye. You’ll see here soon.”

 

“I’m not gonna make it, Clarke,” Lexa cries, “I’m not.”

 

“No, I don’t accept that.”

 

“I want to say goodbye. Please, Clarke.”

 

//

 

Abby rocks a whimpering Lexie in her lap, finally having torn her away from the doorway. She’s whispering fairytales into her ear when her phone buzzes and she’s shocked to see Clarke’s facetime request. She shifts away from Lexie slightly, just in case, and answers. Clarke’s bright red eyes and dripping cheeks breaks her heart. “Clarke, oh sweetheart, it’s okay.”

 

Clarke shakes her head and struggles to compose herself.  “Is Lexie there?”

 

“She’s here in my lap. How is everything?”

 

Clarke closes her eyes, her head falling back as she chokes back a sob.

 

“Clarke?”

 

“She wants to talk to Lexie.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Lexa. She—she wants to—“ she drops to a whisper, “she wants to say goodbye.”  

 

Abby inhales sharply, tears jumping to her eyes. “Oh sweetheart—”

 

“Can I see her?”

 

Abby nods and adjusts Lexie in her lap. “Mommy’s on the phone.” She turns the screen and Lexie immediately presses in, her whimpers immediately turning into tears.

 

“Mommy?”

 

“Hi baby. Hi, how are you?”

 

“Want you! ‘Mere!”

 

“Oh baby, I wish I could. I’m here, though. Mommy’s right here.”

 

“Momma?”

 

“Momma’s here too. She wants to talk to you. You want to talk to Momma?”

 

Lexie nods and immediately brightens up when Lexa’s flashlight-lit face comes into view. “Momma!”

 

“Hi…baby,” Lexa says between ragged breaths.

 

Abby buries her face into Lexie’s hair and holds her close.

 

“Momma okay?”

 

Lexa smiles, and Clarke is quick to wipe away the red before it can scare their little girl. “Yeah. Momma’s okay…how…are you, baby?”

 

“I scarwed.”

 

“Don’t be scared. It’s okay.”

 

“Momma ‘mere now?”

 

Lexa closes her eyes, collecting, and shakes her head as she opens them again and sniffs away her tears. “I can’t come right now, baby. But…mommy…she’ll be there soon, okay?”

 

“But momma—“

 

“I want you to listen to me—“

 

“No! Momma ‘mere now!” Lexie bursts into tears and begins fighting against Abby’s hold.

 

“Lexa, I need you to list to momma, okay?”

 

Lexie immediately stills, not used to her full name being employed, but used to it enough to know that it means it’s time to be serious.

 

Clarke buries her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck, the sound of her wife using their child’s full name, her name sake, too much to bare.

 

“Lexa, momma loves you,” Lexa begins, holding the phone close. “Momma loves you…so much. I’m so proud of you.”

 

Sensing something is wrong, Lexie whines and fidgets in Abby’s lap, her stubby little fingers tugging on the phone to get her mothers closer. She’s done listening to Lexa, she doesn’t want her words, she wants her embrace. She wants her family back to the way it was. Even in her toddler mind she’d realized a difference in the past few months and resented it. Her momma had just come back to her life weeks previous, their short afternoon excursions while mommy was busy or with her aunts. And now something was telling her, something twisty in her little tummy, that her momma was gonna leave again.

 

“Lexie…Lexa, look at momma, please,” Clarke pleads, “momma’s talking to you.”

 

“No!” Lexie shouts, scared and overwhelmed. Abby holds her close and whispers into her ear long enough to get her to settle.

 

“Lexie,” Lexa murmurs, eyes fluttering, “can you…promise momma something?”

 

Lexie nods and wiggles back into her grandmother’s chest, searching for comfort.

 

“Promise me to never…stop dreaming. Never give up, Lexie. Okay? I want you…to be strong…like mommy. Listen to her, be good for her. Okay? I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

 

“Momma—“

 

“Tell momma you love her, baby,” Clarke says, the camera beginning to tremble in her hand.

 

“I wub you, momma.”

 

“I love you too, Lexa. So much. Remember that always.”

 

“You ‘mere now?”

 

Lexa shakes her head, lips trembling, chest heaving in its attempt to keep her calm. “Mommy will be there soon.”

 

Clarke shifts the phone to her face and gives her the best smile she can manage. “Be good for grandma, Lexie. Go to bed soon and I’l be there when you wake up, okay? I love you, baby.”

 

“Tay mommy,” Lexie whispers, fingers tracing her mother’s outline on the phone. “Nigh nigh.”

 

“Good night, baby.” She turns the phone to Lexa.

 

“Sweet dreams, Lexie. I love you,” Lexa whispers. She closes her eyes when the call ends, her head lulling to Clarke’s shoulder.

 

Clarke holds her close and nuzzles her cheek, forcing herself to be calm and strong for her wife. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, the firemen continue to work as the sun finally sets, their saws grinding away at the metal keeping Lexa to the pole. Anya and Lincoln come and go, but when the sun is finally gone and the work lights come on, Lexa says her goodbyes and asks them to be with her daughter, wanting Lexie to have the support, and in her mind, not wanting to die in front of them.

 

When they’re alone again, Clarke kisses Lexa’s fingers, caresses the silver band around her ring finger. She tuts at the shattered watch on her wrist but promises quietly to replace it, knowing it’s Lexa’s favorite.

 

“Are you still cold?” She asks quietly, moving her hands to Lexa’s face, tracing over Lexa’s brows, cheekbones, swiping across her bottom lip—committing every detail to memory.  

 

Lexa barely shakes her head. “Numb,” she mumbles.

 

Clarke tries to ignore the way the doctor and paramedic exchange a loaded look. “Hey,” she whispers, wanting Lexa’s eyes. They flutter, exhausted, but eventually open. Clarke smiles and kisses her briefly. “God you’re beautiful. Do you know that?” Clarke brushes her hair back. “You’re so beautiful, Lex.”

 

“Potato face,” is all Lexa murmurs, a tiny, wry smile flitting across her lips.

 

Clarke laughs wetly and nods, remembering that day in high school when she’d called Lexa the meanest thing she could muster towards the beautiful, brooding girl (that she wasn’t actually mad at) after Lexa had run smack into her in the hallway. “My beautiful potato face,” she chuckles.

 

Lexa smiles and moves her finger enough to run the back of it across Clarke’s wet cheeks. “Don’t cry for me,” she whispers.

 

Clarke scoffs and buries back down, not wanting to see anymore. Of course she’d cry for her. She’d never _stop_ crying for her.

 

“Don’t let this stop you…from living…your life.”

 

“I don’t have a life without you in it.”

 

“You have Lexie.”

 

“You gave me Lexie.”

 

Lexa kisses her on the head. “So you’ll have her…to remember me…by.”

 

“I don’t want to have to remember you. I want you here.”

 

Lexa chuckles. “Just a second ago…you were ready…to divorce me.”

 

Clarke’s stomach flips violently and she shakes her head, eyes wide and wet. “Don’t joke about that, Lexa. Please. God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You have to believe me when I say that I never wanted and I never will want a divorce. I want to grow old with you. I want to watch our daughter grow up and date and—“

 

“No dating.”

 

Clarke smiles. “Okay, no dating.”

 

“Until she’s thirty.”

 

“You’ll have to be the one to tell her.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Hush. You tell her. You have to tell her. You have to be there, Lexa. You’re her hero, you know that? She talked about you every day we were apart. She needs you in her life.”

 

Lexa whimpers. There’s nothing she wants more than to be there for her daughter. She wants to see her grow up, date, go to college, get married. All of the things she’d dreamt about the day Clarke told her she was pregnant. But she knows her body. She knows what those looks from the doctor and paramedic mean. She knows that things are not looking good for her, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

 

“Shh, I’m sorry,” Clarke soothes, “I’m sorry. It’s alright, it’s gonna be alright.”

 

Lexa inhales sharply, something painful happening in her torso. “Lexie’s gonna…be okay right?”

 

Clarke nods and kisses her temple. “She’ll be okay.”

 

Lexa turns her head so that they’re pressed together again. “I want…you…to love again. Don’t be alone, okay?”

 

The idea is laughable, but not in the mood to laugh, Clarke shakes her head and kisses her. “I’ll never want anyone else, Lex. I want _you_. You’re it for me.”

 

“I don’t want you to be sad after—“

 

“I don’t want to talk about the after anymore, okay? We’re not there yet. Don’t you dare give up on me.”

 

“I’m not,” Lexa whispers, barely audibly. “But can I…close my eyes?”

 

“I’d rather you didn’t. Just a little longer.” Clarke turns to the doctor, eye pleading. “Just a little longer, right?”

 

“We’re actually ready to move her.”

 

//

 

Moving her is a mistake. A grave, unavoidable mistake—a fatal necessity, a taunting oxymoron. Leave her there, and her body will shut down. Move her, and bad things will happen.

 

The doctor and paramedic struggle to stop the bleeding that pushes out of Lexa around the metal stake like water does around a crack in a damn.

 

The pressure makes Lexa’s belly bloat, and with the smell, it’s enough to rip the stomach acid from Clarke’s empty stomach and leave her dry heaving on the ground. A spare paramedic puts their hand on her back and holds her hair, but there’s nothing to avoid. She hasn’t eaten in hours, and more to the point, it’s the stress of it all that has her gasping.

 

It lasts all of a couple of seconds, but somewhere within those moments, Lexa had closed her eyes, and somewhere further along, she’d gone unconscious and then unresponsive, and then sickly pale—the fear inside of Clarke is vicious, shutting down her faculties one by one until she can barely move, let alone climb into the ambulance after her wife.

 

She struggles at the back of the bus, but then someone boosts her up and pushes her into the seat next to the stretcher. After that, all eyes, all thoughts, all actions, and all focus, is on Lexa.

 

//

 

The first thing Clarke does after the double doors to the trauma rooms close in her face, is stare. Unseeing, she stares after the stretcher, still trying to catch up in a moment that’s already gone. Still trying to process how anyone could have _so much_ blood to lose. Still trying to last words meaningful enough to bestow.

 

“Hey there, hon” someone to her left says, but she doesn’t have the energy to look. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

 

Still, she doesn’t move—too tired, too angry, too confused, distraught and undone.

 

“Ma’am,” the stranger prods, placing an arm on Clarke’s back.

 

“Please don’t touch me,” is all Clarke manages, nothing but a whisper with her eyes still glued to the doors.

 

“Ma’am, you’re scaring the others.”

 

With great effort, Clarke blinks. With even greater effort she turns and looks at the grey-haired nurse with wide eyes and sweet smile. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she murmurs, half a question, half a sentiment.

 

“Come on, lets get you cleaned up.”

 

Clarke puzzles, then looks down at herself realizing what it is exactly that’s scaring the other people in the waiting room. She runs a hand over the large stain of drying blood on her shirt. Lexa’s blood. The same blood covering her hands, and she suspects (because of the nagging itch) her neck and face.

 

//

 

The second thing Clarke does, is cry into the warm, wet washcloth the nurse has given her. Her throat burns with the day’s long exertion and the remnant sting of stomach acid, but still she cries. Big, ugly, angry sobs.

 

Sniffling all the while, she scrubs at the blood on her hand then peels out of her shirt and stares at herself in the mirror. She sits there like that for a while, in nothing but her jeans and white bra, chest having, nose running.

 

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, but at some point she picks up the wash cloth again and goes away at her face and neck and stomach. She scrubs herself pink, tears renewing at times, ebbing at others. Her skin stings by the time there’s a light knock on the door and it opens to reaveal her mother, looking scared and sad and relieved.

 

“Oh, Clarke. Sweetheart.” 

 

Clarke doesn’t say anything. Can’t. Just whimpers and allows her mother to take up the washing, her strokes much softer, much gentler across her stained skin.

 

When Abby’s done, and there’s still nothing to say, Clarke lets herself be held. She lets the soft, whispered words lull her into some kind of distracted trance. She lets herself be dressed into the spare scrubs, lets herself be led down the hall, all the while, feeling nothing.

 

She doesn’t let herself feel until she’s guided into a dark room and helped into the bed where her daughter lies, blankie held tight, thumb in her mouth. With silent tears, she curls around Lexie and pulls her to her chest, noticing and aching at the way her brown hair splayed all over the pillow is so much like her mother’s.

 

Careful not to wake her up, Clarke presses kiss after kiss onto her warm, little head, whispering apologies for keeping she and Lexa apart for so long. She can hear her little girl’s pained, confused questions in her head, even now, on repeat as her own special hell. “Never again,” she promises, and in the same breaths, begs whoever might be listening, to give her a second chance.

 

//

 

“Clarke. Baby, wake up.”

 

Clarke is quick to wake, but slow to rise. Her body aches with a heaviness that comes from too much. To much pain. Too much emotion. Too much sleep deprivation. Too much trauma. Her body is exhausted, but her mind is on hyper drive, and so she opens her eyes immediately, blinks, and sees her mother.

 

The reality of the previous night slams into her at the sight of her mother’s concerned, sympathetic eyes, and she jerks upwards, though still she manages not to jostle her daughter with a finesse only a mother is capable of.

 

“Lexa?”

 

“She’s still in surgery, but she’s stable.”

 

Clarke allows herself only a fleeting moment of relief. “How long’s it been?”

 

“They’re going into their ninth hour now.”

 

Clarke balks. “ _Nine_ hours?”

 

“There’s a lot to repair, sweetheart. It’s a wonder she’s alive.” Abby smiles and smooths her hand over Clarke’s hair. “You hanging in there?”

 

Clarke nods, though she certainly doesn’t feel it. Hanging as in suffocating on every breath perhaps. But coping? Doing okay? There is none of that going on. Not on the inside. On the outside, she gives her mother a small smile and a whispered “yeah,” for emphasis.  

 

“Have you talked to Lexie yet?”

 

Clarke turns back to her daughter, runs her hand over Lexie’s hair just as Abby had done to her. A natural, soothing instinct. “No,” she murmurs, eyes glassy and awed by the sweet, peaceful innocence of her baby’s sleeping face. “She woke once in the middle of the night with nightmares, but I got her back down and she hasn’t been up since.”

 

Abby quietly pulls a chair up to the bedside and sits. She pours Clarke a glass of water, watches her not drink it, but takes comfort in the option at least. “How has she been handling the past couple of months?”

 

It’s a reminder she doesn’t need. An unintentional taunt that leaves her embarrassed, ashamed and panicked. She’d asked for a divorce. Kicked her wife of ten years out of their home. Out of their daughter’s life. All on the basis of a blurry paparazzi photo and the word of her, arguably most untrustworthy, mutuals.

 

The most upsetting part is that she’d known. Deep down she’d known that Lexa would never do that to her. To their family. But that’d been the problem, hadn’t it? Lexa, in all of her glory, had always been the good one. The sweet one. The respectful one. The loving, understanding, perfect one. And Clarke had been feeling an itch for months. Maybe even years. Perhaps it’d started with Lexie’s conception—this notion that doom was impending. That one day, soon, they’d hit that inevitable, unsurmountable obstacle. Inevitable because Lexa had always been the perfect one, and Clarke the one trying to keep up. Sooner or later, Lexa would realize. Would see her for what she is and, utterly horrified, leave.

 

“I seriously messed up,” she whispers. Not so much to Abby, but more to her thoughts.

 

“How much did she understand?”

 

Clarke blinks, realizing that Abby is still agonizingly on Lexie. It’s annoying and upsetting, and so she snaps. “I mean, she’s three, mom. What do you think?”

 

Abby reclines, used to her daughter’s hot head, and unphased. Particularly given the circumstances.

 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says on her own volition, sighing and running her hands over her face. “It’s just been a mess. And I could have prevented it all—“

 

“Honey, that’s not true.”

 

“No, it is. I could have let them start visiting sooner. What kind of mother lets her daughter suffer like that?”

 

“I’m sure she understoond, baby.”

 

“Yeah, no that’s the problem,” Clarke snaps, again. “She understood too much and not enough. She understood Lexa’s absence. Could feel it and asked about it all the time. And she understood that I was different. She could feel my pain and anger. But she couldn’t possibly understand why, of course, and that made it worse. It’s not like I could sit my three year old down and explain everything, but I could tell that she was aware that something was up. Her behavior was all over the place. Up and down, temper tantrums galore. She refused to eat for a week until I started bribing her.”   

 

Abby pushes back in, her hand instinctively reaching out to soothe. This time it finds purchase at Clarke’s lower back. “Well, a part of that could also be that she’s simply a toddler and bound to act out right now.”

 

“No,” Clarke says quietly. She shakes her head and looks at Lexie once again. “I know my little girl. She was hurting and reacting. And the irony of it all is that Lexa was always the one who best understood her to begin with.”

 

“At least she’s young. She’ll bounce back.”

 

“Not if—“ Clarke’ voice cracks and she whimpers at the thought…not if Lexa doesn’t make it. “What if she dies, mom? What if I lose her after everything? What if the last moments I have with her are all fights?”

 

“You have fifteen years of moments, Sweetheart. Focus on the good ones.”

 

She wishes her mother had told her that there’s no way Lexa will die. That her concerns are pointless because Lexa is going to make it through and wake up and give her another fifty years of moments. But Abby is a surgeon. _The_ surgeon. And not nearly dumb or optimistic enough to spin such a silver lining. It shoves Clarke into resignation like a square peg into a round hole.

 

“How did you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“How’d you keep going after Dad?”

 

Abby smiles sadly and nods towards Lexie. “The same way you will if it comes to it.”

 

//

 

Clarke never really understood the power of friendship and all its hype throughout her life. She met Lexa young, a freshman in high school, and she became her entire universe soon after. It was she and Lexa against the world, and that’s all that ever really mattered to her.

 

Of course there was Octavia and Bellamy, closest to her after Lexa, but they had each other and were in and out of her life as time went on. Anya and Lincoln were family, but arguably Lexa’s. Nylah and Echo had been around for so long that at some point she’d started calling them friends too, though they’d always been trouble. Raven came into her life in college, and she loved the girl, but she’d always be a little tainted in Clarke’s mind as the girl she bonded with because they’d both known a certain Finn Collins in their early life.

 

Up until this point, friends had always been sort of an aside to her life. Her love for Lexa was all consuming. When Lexie came along, several years later, her heart was full in the best of ways. Too early had Clarke felt the irreparable sting of a devastated family. Too early had she experienced the excruciating pain of losing a family member. Thus, when her own came along, she devoted herself to it singularly and completely; friends had been a happy bonus, when there was time.

 

But now, with Bellamy bouncing a giggling Lexie on his lap, huge smile on his face working magic to keep her calm, and Raven absentmindedly, distractingly, rambling about one of her projects going explosively awry, and Octavia casually holding her hand while whispering to Lincoln, and Anya shooting her intermittent smiles from across the room as she chats with Abby—

Clarke has never been more sure of one thing in her life: while her wife and daughter are her universe, her friends are her world, and she loves them all desperately.

 

//

 

“She’s awake now.”

 

Three words have never stunted her so proficiently before. “I love you,” had come close. Lexa’s soft, timid proclamation that night in her truck bed under the start. “Be my wife,” five years later had come even closer. “Lexa is hurt,” Anya’s shaky, terrified voice, from just the week before had come the closes.

 

But nothing had so thoroughly short circuited her system before as those three words from her mother, almost whispered as if any louder might undo it.

 

“I can see her?” Clarke gulps, a hand going to her daughter’s hair, somehow softer and silkier in sleep.

 

“If you’d like.”

 

Clarke nods, tears already beginning to coat her eyes as she follows her mother down the hall and into Lexa’s room. The first thing she notices is the equipment. Too much of it. Everywhere. All over her wife. It’s clinical and mechanic and terrifying.

 

The second thing she notices is the soft, soft skin of Lexa’s arm—the one not wrapped in a heavy, white cast. It’s pale and and marred by angry, red lines, but it’s so unmistakably Lexa’s arm, it comforts her in the strangest of ways.

 

The third thing she notices is the hair, just like her daughters, splayed over the pillow, and it makes her chuckle oddly and uncomfortably—relieved and terrified all at once. She’s slow approaching the side of the bed, mind over concerned with every little thing that might make this unreal. A wrong step, or a blink—something that rips her out of the dreams and slams her right back down into that moment in front of the double doors, her torso covered in Lexa’s blood, sure that she’d neve see her wife again.

 

Her mother pulls up a chair for her by the bed and it’s the legs scraping against the floor that has Lexa’s eyes fluttering open—heavy and grey and dull. But so, so beautiful.

 

“Clarke.”

 

She doesn’t mean to let it affect her so much, but the sound of Lexa’s voice of course draws the sobs out of her violently and unexpectedly.

 

“Shh,” Lexa soothes, slurred and tired and thick with sedative. “Its’okay”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke gasps, “oh my god. Oh my god, hi. Hi baby,” she chuckles through her tears, shaking her head and cradling Lexa’s face in her hands. “Hi.”

 

Lexa smiles. “Hi, Clarke.”

 

Chuckling and crying and still shaking her head, Clarke kisses her, once, twice. She loses count. “I love you,” she whispers. Then louder, “I love you so fucking much, Lexa.”

 

“Love you too,” Lexa slurs with a dopey smile on her face.

 

Clarke places her head on Lexa’s chest, gently, and spends several seconds just listening. Convincing herself with physical, pulsing evidence.

 

“Mommy?”

 

Clarke smiles at the uptake of Lexa’s heart beat at the sound of their daughter’s sleepy, concerned voice. “You have a visitor,” she tells Lexa whose turn it is with the wet, shiny eyes.

 

She lifts her daughter up and sets her carefully on the side of the bed. She tells her to be gently, tells her not to touch momma’s tummy, and then let’s her go, free to wrap herself around Lexa’s neck and squeal in delight.

 

She steps back, watching on with a trembling lip rivaled only by her wife’s and her mother’s as the two Lexa’s reunite with excited whispers and fluttery kisses.

 

“Everything’s going to be okay now, Clarke,” her mom assures, rubbing her back. Clarke just nods and wipes at her cheek with her shoulder.

 

“Mommy?”

  
Clarke gravitates back, one hand going to her daughter, the other to her wife. “Hmm?”

 

“Momma can come home wif us?”

 

She smiles, shares a look with Lexa—long and loving and full of apologies and ‘I love you’s—before she bends and kisses Lexie on the head. “Yes baby, momma’s coming home with us.”

 

“Forever?”

 

This time, Clarke kisses her wife. “Forever,” she promises.


	2. Chapter 2

Lexa is distant, everyone can feel it. As soon as the pain meds are down to twice a day, and she’s eating regularly, the elation of simply being alive and having her family back begins to fade away.

 

Clarke is doting and gentle and so very lovely, but Lexa is resentful and angry and so very hurt. But perhaps worst of all is that she’s guilty, because she knows why this happened. Can trace it back to a very moment in time that she, herself, indirectly and maybe directly caused it. Because Clarke of three years ago would have never entertained the idea of Lexa cheating. Because Clarke of three years ago did not have an infant to raise by herself while Lexa ran off to Paris for several months to start up her company’s Europe branch.

 

Clarke of three years ago did not give up her residency at MOMA to raise their child while Lexa was off gallivanting through the city of light with admittedly, shiny, beautiful people.

 

Clarke of three years ago was not struggling through insecurities exacerbated by post partem depression without the help and support of her significant other.

 

Simply put, three years ago, Clarke was not struggling and questioning herself at every turn. Clarke wasn’t questioning Lexa’s commitment or her love for her. They’d been happy, of course they had, but Clarke had been noticeably struggling and maybe Lexa hadn’t done anything about it. Maybe she’d been too tired or too wrapped up in her own goals and aspirations to realize what Clarke had given up for her. For her family. Maybe the divorce request was an over reaction, but maybe Lexa had to shoulder some of that blame too.

 

And that just makes everything worse because of course she can’t just blame Clarke. And of course Clarke can’t just blame her, though that’s what she’d done. And yes, Clarke had been struggling, and yes, maybe Lexa had conveniently managed to miss that at the time. But Lexa had been struggling too. Lexa, who is constantly in the limelight, Lexa who is constantly fighting off saboteurs and money mongrels, Lexa who still sometimes lays awake at night aching for her parents. Lexa who had no idea what it meant to be a parent, and even less what it meant to be a parent to a child who looks at you like you’re their entire world, despite having not been around for their early months. Lexa had had her own struggles.

 

The only problem is, Lexa of three years ago, never would have let them overshadow Clarke’s.

 

The painful truth of the matter is that Lexa left Clarke first. Long before any of this nonsense about divorce papers. Lexa had left Clarke when she needed her the most. Lexa knows this now. Being bed ridden lends itself well to reflection. But that doesn’t make it any better. Any easier. It makes it harder, because Clarke is no longer the bad guy. But Clarke is not off the hook either. If only she had _talked_ to Lexa during those years. But that’s how Clarke is.  Clarke, her selfless, resilient, beautiful Clarke, had let her go off to Paris. Without complaint, without retribution. She’d let Lexa walk away and take her alone time when Clarke had needed the support the most. She’d let Lexa play the young, bachelor she never got to, and instead of talking about it, instead of demanding fairness, she’d bottled it away and let it simmer. And boy had Lexa paid for it, all at once, in full, no mercy.

 

There’s a timid knock at the door and an even more timid “Lex?”

 

Lexa closes her eyes and shoves the anger and resentment and guilt down as deep as she can get it as Clarke opens the door. Lexa forces a smile on her face and tries not to note how the guilt had been hardest to shove away.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

With a grimace, Lexa pushes herself up to sitting and gestures her wife away from the door. “You can come in, love.”

 

Clarke chews on her lip in trepidation, and even with the anger and resentment and guilt, Lexa thinks she’s the most beautiful creature on earth. And in that moment, for the first time in several days, she craves Clarke’s touch.

 

But Clarke doesn’t move. “I was thinking chicken and rice soup since the oxycodone has been making you nauseous. Think you can keep that down?”

 

“What’re you making for Lexie?”

 

“She wants mac n’ cheese. I’m gonna try to disguise some broccoli and rice in there too. She’s not eating her vegetables again.”

 

Lexa smiles and is pleased to see the hint of a smile on her wife’s face as well. “How about just some broccoli and rice for me? That way you don’t have to make more than one thing.”

 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Clarke offers a bit too cheerily. A bit too enthusiastically. But that’s how this had gone. Clarke overcompensating and Lexa struggling to navigate it.

 

“You’re doing so much for us, Clarke. Take it easy. The broccoli and rice is fine.”

 

Clarke looks down, and gives a minute shake of her head.

 

“Clarke—“

 

“I’m hardly doing anything, Lex,” she whispers. “It’s the least I can do after what I’ve done.”

 

Lexa signs and wishes she were strong enough to get out of the bed and cross to her wife.

 

“Clarke, come here, please. Or at least look at me.”

 

Clarke does the latter and Lexa counts it as a small victory. “The broccoli and rice is fine.” She gives her a genuine smile.

 

Clarke instinctively takes a step forward and Lexa holds her breath in anticipation, silently urging her wife to continue forward.

 

“I’m worried the broccoli will be too hard on your system. I’m not sure you’ll keep it down.”

 

To her dismay, Clarke doesn’t continue forward and remains locked in the doorway, so Lexa heavy hands it. “Come sit with me, Clarke.”

 

Clarke’s eyes go imperceptibly wider and she backtracks, one foot already out the door. “I…I’ve got the stove on. I’ll just make the soup.—“

 

“Clarke, wait—“

 

 I’ll be back—“

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Text me if you need something, okay?” And then she’s gone and Lexa is woozy from the exertion, so she let’s her go and tries not to let her mind run away with the complicated mix of emotions hurting her head and heart.

 

//

 

While her feelings surrounding Clarke and the past several months are confusing and complex, her feelings towards Clarke’s friends are crystal clear and full of malice.

 

“She just wants to visit to see how you are,” Clarke explains as she keeps a close eye on Lexie running around the room.

 

“I don’t care,” Lexa snaps. “I’m not interested in a visit from her.”

 

“Lex—“

 

“She threatened me, Clarke. She came into _my_ space, at _my_ work and threatened me.”

 

Clarke stills, brown furrowed in confusion. “What?”

 

“Like a week after you kicked me out,” and Lexa doesn’t miss the way the words make Clarke’s face fall, as they always do. “She showed up outside my building and told me she’d end me for hurting you. Raven was my friend too and she just…just like that…was ready to throw me to the wolves. I’ve known all of them just as long as you have and yet not _one_ of them bothered to ask me how _I_ was doing. _I’m_ the one who got kicked out. _I’m_ the one who lost their child for months. And yet still, somehow, _I_ ended up the evil bad guy.”

 

“Momma not ebil,” Lexi pipes up from the floor surrounded by her stuffed animals. She holds up her lion to Clarke, proud, and Clarke offers her a smile and a nod. She turns back to Lexa. “We should talk about this later.”

 

//

 

When Lexie is down for her nap, and Clarke has lunch for Lexa, she brings it up again, quietly and with tears in her eyes.

 

“I didn’t know Raven did that. I’m so sorry.”

 

Lexa chews on her teeth and knows she’s glaring, but she can’t help it. She’d been abandoned. By _everyone._ “You really think your friends would do anything less? They’ve been skeptical of me since day one.”

 

Clarke nods, her eyes downcast in shame. It’s her shaking hand, as it goes to chop up Lexa’s food into bite-sized pieces, that finally pushes the anger out of Lexa. “Hey,” she murmurs, her friendliest tone yet. But Clarke doesn’t look up. She shakes her head and whimpers, but before anything more can happen, she’s gone in a blur. Lexa calls after her, but Clarke is long gone.

 

She thinks that’s the end of it until she’s woken up about a half hour later by yelling out in the hallway.

 

“No, I don’t _care,_ Raven! No…no, listen to me. Raven, _listen_ to me!”

 

Lexa shifts herself up into sitting so that she can pay better attention, and glances over at the sleeping bundle on the floor to make sure her daughter is still fast asleep after having waddled in at some point and tired herself out with her toys.

 

“That’s not an excuse! No—Raven—Ra—shut up and fucking listen to me for one second, holy shit!”

 

Lexa glances nervously back over at Lexie, but the toddler is fast asleep, her head perched awkwardly on one of her stuffed animals.

 

“You don’t _ever_ threaten my wife! Do you hear me? ‘End her?’ Really, what the fuck were you going for? Al Pacino?”

 

There’s a beat.

 

“I don’t care. I don’t care, Raven. She could fucking rob a bank, you don’t get to punish her for it. She’s _my_ wife, _my_ family. You have to let _me_ handle it.”

 

A longer beat.

 

“Well yeah of course I didn’t have a problem with it before, I didn’t _know…_ ……No, Raven, I don’t care if it was Bellamy’s idea. Believe me, I’ll talk to him too……… Yes, I already spoke with Octavia.”

 

Lexa wonders how long she’d actually been asleep. She looks over at her plate, sees that it’s mostly full. She must’ve passed out minutes after Clarke bringing it to her.

 

“If I’d known you guys were doing that to her, I would have put a stop to it immediately. We don’t get to do that to her.  We don’t get to gang up on her when she has no one else, Raven. We’ve had this discussion before. If you’re going to be my friends, you’re going to be her friends too, and you’re going to fucking protect her because she’s _all alone,_ you guys, seriously! I lost my fucking mind for a moment, but you guys had no reason to lose yours too………yes I know I’m your friend………yeah, I know. I know, Raven. But listen. Listen to me. No—Rae, seriously, shut up. Listen. You. Are. _Her._ Friend. Too. That should have count for something.”

 

The beat is long enough this time that Lexa almost wonders if Raven has hung up. But then Clarke’s voice is back, much softer this time.

 

“I know you thought she cheated. I _know………_ You could have asked her first………well, what’d she say?.........She said she didn’t and you still lashed out at her? Great. That’s great, Rae………Look, I’m sure I instigated some of this. I wasn’t exactly fair in immediately leaping to divorce but that was _my_ mistake to make and bear.  You didn’t have to go and add to it. I feel bad enough as it is having acted like a total shit bag, and then I have to find out that you guys went behind my back and made her feel worse?! Honestly, Raven, I’m so mad at you all I could fucking scream………Yes, I know I’m already screaming. It’s a figure of speech.”

 

Lexa bites back a grin, feeling oddly satisfied and vindicated by Clarke’s immediate actions against her friends.

 

“No, I don’t think she’s ready to talk to you. You can apologize later after I’ve spoken with her about seeing you guys………I will………Oh, fuck no, don’t even get me started about Nylah and Echo. They can go to hell, Raven…Yeah, you tell them that. And tell them that if I ever see their faces again I will fuck them up in so many ways—yeah, no yeah, I’m serious, you can tell them that. And tell them to get a lawyer because I’m suing………What do you mean what for? For emotional distress or whatever the fuck it’s called. I’m married to a lawyer I’ll figure it out I’m sure…yes, she’s a lawyer too. No, that was her other grad degree………No, after engineering and business—look! I’m not discussing Lexa’s degrees with you, that’s not the point. The point is, you need to come up with some seriously good apology _and_ you need to make sure I never see those fucking cunts again if you’re still associating with them.  I need to go check on my wife now, I’m gonna go………yeah, okay. Okay, Raven. It’s fine, well it’s not fine. We’re not fine. But we can work on it……..Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Okay. Okay, bye.”

 

There’s a long moment of silence, and Lexa strains to hear. She hopes she’ll hear footsteps and the door opening, but she gets nothing. Instead she she hears Clarke’s voice once again.

 

“Hey. Bellamy. We need to talk.”

 

//

 

The first day that Lexa walks it’s more of a desperate, panicked stumble and series of falls as she tries to reach the terrified screams and wails of her daughter.

 

She grips onto the kitchen island for dear life as she rounds the corner, ignoring the immense pain in her stomach which only grows worse when she sees why Lexie is sobbing.

 

Hunched on the floor sits her wife, rocking and whimpering as she stares at her bloody hands.

 

“Clarke!” Lexa gasps and pushes herself forward, falling to her knees and immediately tending to her daughter. “Lexie. Lexie, look at momma. Look at momma.”

 

Lexie turns to her with wide, wet eyes and flings herself onto Lexa, eliciting a cough and groan from her mother whose eyes clench shut at the pain. She does her best to run her hand along Lexie’s back until the girl calms, but she knows she’s not helping anything with her panicked breathing and shaky hand. “You’re okay, Sweetgirl. You’re okay.” She looks over Lexie’s shoulder at her wife, but Clarke’s eyes are stuck unseeing on her bloody hands. “Lexie—“ Lexa pulls her daughter back and looks her firm in the eyes. “Can you go sit on the couch and wait for me?”

 

Lexie nods and waddles away as Lexa asks her SmartHouse to put on Thomas the Choo Choo Train for her.

 

“Clarke, hey. Look at me.” Lexa takes Clarke’s hands in hers, and looks them over, quickly spotting the large gash in the heel of her palm that’s causing all of the blood. “Clarke!” She snaps, and her wife finally jerks up, meeting her eyes. “Hey there,” she says, lowering her tone back down. “What’s going on?”

 

Clarke stares at Lexa like she’s in disbelief. She touches her faces, runs it along Lexa’s jaw hesitantly. “You’re here…”

 

Lexa nods and gives her a concerned smile. “I’m here.”

 

Clarkes hand drops to hover over her stomach. “But you died.” Clarke whimpers. “You died.”

 

“No, Clarke. I’m okay. I’m alive.”

 

“But I saw you. I saw you and you died. You died before I could tell you I’m sorry.” Clarke’s eyes are still glued, wide and catatonic at Lexa’s stomach, her hand trembling in the air over the bulk of Lexa’s stitches. “I…I hurt you. I hurt you so bad and I wasn’t even right and you…you _died._ ”

 

“Oh, Clarke.” Lexa drops down to sit, her legs curling underneath her as she lets herself fall back against the other side of the kitchen island. The pain is radiating through her, making it hard to do much of anything, but Clarke is still scaring her with her mind and eyes locked in another world, another timeline, and so she stays. “I’m okay Clarke.”

                               

“I never said I’m sorry,” Clarke whispers.

 

Lexa furrows and shakes her head. “No, you did. You did, Clarke.”

 

“I never said I’m sorry and you died. And, and, and I just….you _died.”_ She finally looks up at Lexa, but it’s not her wife she’s looking at. She’s far too pale, her eyes far too red and wet. “And I hurt you.”

 

Lexa swallows hard and shakes her head, reaching out to squeeze Clarke’s thigh. “I’m right here, Clarke.”

 

“Did I tell you I love you?”

 

Lexa swallows hard, and nods. “Several times.”

 

“Did you believe me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Were you mad at me?”

 

“I—well…when?”

 

 “When you died.”

 

Lexa’s concern increases and she shifts, looking around for Clarke’s phone. When she finds it on the counter above her, quite sure she’s pulled a few stitches reaching up to grab it, she shoots a text to Abby then returns to her wife. “Clarke, look at me. Feel me.” She takes Clarke hands, wipes them clean as best she can, and places them on her cheeks. “Feel me, Clarke. I’m alive.”

 

“But—“

 

“No.” Lexa shakes her head, not letting Clarke finish. “I’m alive, Clarke.” She shifts a hand down to her chest and allows Clarke to feel her heartbeat.

 

Reality dawns slowly on her wife, like a sunrise overcoming a mountain. Clarke’s face regains color, she stops crying, her breathing becomes less erratic. After several minutes, Clarke is aware enough again to startle at her hands and her surroundings. She immediately crawls over to Lexa who is doing everything she can to stay awake and whisper to Clarke as her wife slowly overcame whatever attack she’d just gone through.

 

“Lexa…shit, Lexa, hey. Are you okay?” She presses her hand to Lexa’s bleeding stitches and runs her other hand over Lexa’s forehead. “What happened? What happened?” She looks at her hands, her eyes rapidly sweeping over Lexa to find more blood because her stitches aren’t leaking enough to leave that much on her hands.

 

Lexa rouses herself and sighs in relief at the return of her wife, capturing her frantic movements with her hands on her cheeks. “Clarke. Hey. Are you okay?”

 

“What happened? Why are you out of bed?”

 

“I…you…you don’t remember?”

 

Clarke shakes her head and begins to panic again, but Lexa’s holds her firm in her hands. “Hey, shh. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

 

“Where’s Lexie?”

 

“In the living room.”

 

Clarke’s eyes return to Lexa’s stomach. “What happened? You’re bleeding—“

 

“I’m okay. Just pulled some stitches. You had a panic attack, love. A bad one. You don’t remember?”

 

Tears leap to Clarke’s eyes and she shakes her head, confused and lost and scared. “I was making dinner…”

 

“You cut yourself.” Lexa takes Clarke’s hands and pinches the skin on Clarke’s palm closed. “We need to fix this.”

 

“I—I can do it. You, shit. You need to get back in bed. God, I can’t believe this.” Clarke begins crying again, and Lexa feels overwhelmed and confused. “I can’t believe I hurt you again. I keep hurting you!” Clarke sobs and repels away from Lexa, head shaking.

 

“No, Clarke, it’s okay. It’s okay, this isn’t your fault.”

 

“It is. It is, it’s always my fault. Oh my god, I fucked up, Lexa. I fucked up.”

 

Before Lexa can answer, the elevator to their suite dings and Abby rushes in, calling their names.

 

“In the kitchen,” Lexa calls, winching.

 

Abby comes in and freezes when she sees the two of them on the floor, both bloody and teary-eyed. “What _happened?”_

 

“Just help her off the floor, please,” Clarke begs, scrambling upwards. “I have to go.”

 

“No, Clarke—just, Clarke! Listen to me. Stay right here, baby,” Abby pleads as she bends to help Lexa off the floor. “I’m gonna get Lexa in bed, stay right here.”

 

//

 

“We call it DPD,” Abby explains to Lexa once Clarke is asleep in their bed and Lexie is tucked safely away in her own for nap time. “Depersonalization Disorder. It causes her to lose touch with reality, sometimes experience alternate realities. It’s most common in tandem with panic attacks which, as you know, Clarke’s had since she was a little girl.”

 

“I don’t…I don’t understand, though. Her panic attacks have never been like that. Why now?”

 

Abby checks the pressure on Lexa’s stitches and sighs. “This isn’t new. She had some trouble with this after her father’s death. It went away with time and medication, but she struggles every now and again.”

 

“I…I never knew.”

 

“She doesn’t like to talk about it, and since she’s known you, it’s been under control.” Abby pulls Lexa’s shirt back down and moves to sit in the armchair next ot the bed. “The problem is, Clarke is extremely empathetic. She feels everything very deeply. Too deeply, often times. I think that’s part of the reason she reacted the way she did with the tabloid photo. I love my daughter dearly, but she’s been through a lot, from an early age, and it’s made her quick to anger and aggression. She does not handle trauma well, and given everything that’s happened, I’m not surprised she slipped.”

 

Lexa swallows, scared and disconcerted knowing that her wife had been struggling with this as long as she’d known her and she never knew. She’d always chalked it up to Clarke’s anxiety and her passionate personality.  “How can I help her?”

 

“Well, first of all, she needs to get more sleep. She can’t keep calling me at 3, 4 in the morning, it’s not healthy for her. If you happen to see her awake, try to get her back to sleep.”

 

Lexa is stunned. She shakes her head speechless and Abby sighs. “You didn’t know.”

 

A rock of guilt settles in her stomach. “We’re not…we’re sleeping together. She sleeps upstairs in our room.”

 

“Is that to protect you from injury or because you two are still having trouble?”

 

“She tried to divorce me, Abby,” Lexa snaps, feeling defesnsive, then immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry. Things have just been…weird.”

 

“I understand that. I do. And I know that you’re angry, believe me. But I can guarantee that Clarke is angrier with herself than you will ever be. My daughter made a mistake. A huge, gaping mistake, and I have had many a talks with her about it, but she has thoroughly punished herself for it, Lexa. And it’s time you two start trying to move forward. She’s killing herself. The nightmares alone…” Abby shakes her head.

 

“I didn’t know she was having nightmares,” Lexa murmurs, concerned and ashamed.  

 

“Clarke is very visual. It’s what makes her such a wonderful artist. But because of that she is easily triggered and tends to relive moments over and over again until she’s made herself ill.”

 

Lexa hears Clarke’s words from ages ago echo through her mind. _“I just keep seeing you kiss her. Touch her. Inside of her. I can’t stop seeing it and it makes me sick.”_

“She’s exiled all of her friends, and I…well, I’ve been slammed at the hospital. I’m doing what I can, but it’s not a single-person job. She’s feeling very alone and very ashamed. She’s drowning herself in guilt and for her, she sees no end to it. She doesn’t believe she _deserves_ an end to it.  You don’t have to be happy with her. You don’t even have to forgive her right now. But you need to talk to her. You need to let her know where you’re at. And most of all, you need to let her know if there’s still hope for you two. Because if there isn’t, you need to let her go and I need to consider having her move in with me so we can get her back on track.”

 

Lexa’s eyes fall and her lip trembles and her chest pounds because her perfect family and perfect wife and perfect world is so tortured beyond recognition she has no idea what to do with herself. “I don’t want to let her go,” she whispers. “But I’m so angry with her.” She raises her eyes and finds nothing but sympathy from her wife’s mother. It makes it all worse, because Abby should be on Clarke’s side. “She should have _trusted_ me.”

  
“I know, Sweetheart. But you and I both know Clarke has trust issues. And while she’s come really far, it gets the best of her sometimes. That’s not fair to you, I know. But you both have…baggage,” Abby says as delicately as she can. “And when you put two people together who both have a lot of struggling in their history, you’re bound to run into turbulence. This is your turblance. Now you two have to decide if you want to fly ahead or land.”

Lexa shakes her head. “No, this isn’t our turbulence. Our turbulence started three years ago when I left for Paris. Who leaves their 7-month pregnant wife alone for half a year to go gallivanting around France?”

 

Abby’s face scrunches in confusion and she sits up. “I thought you two worked that out. She told me you two had worked it out.”

 

“She talked to you about it?”

 

“Well….yeah. I mean, she was struggling with it for a while. We talked through it for months before and after you got back.”

 

Lexa blinks and raises her face to the ceiling, trying, and failing, to curb her emotions. “Fuck,” she hisses. She shakes her head, still avoiding Abby’s gaze. “She never…we never…”

 

“Lexa?”

 

Lexa returns her gaze, cheeks wet. “No she...she never mentioned it. We never talked about it. I thought she was fine. This is _my_ fault. _I_ did this. I lost her trust long before that picture.” Then it dawns on her. “Did she tell her friends about it? Do you know? Nylah? Echo?”

 

“Wha—I—I don’t know, Lexa. I—maybe?" Abby stumbles over the new information. "I know Echo and Nylah were around more often around that time, but so were all of her friends. She needed the help and they were happy to oblige.”

 

“That’s how they did it,” Lexa seethes. “They knew and they…they exploited that.”

 

“Lexa, honey, I’m lost. What are you talking about?”

 

“Nylah and Echo! They set this up. They published that photo and told Clarke I cheated. Echo was trying to punish me fore getting her mother indicted for fraud. They knew they could do this because they knew it was Clarke’s one ultimatum and that I’d already lost her trust.”

 

Abby, wide-eyed and bewildered, struggles to keep up, but she knows one thing for sure. “You didn’t lose her trust, Lexa. You just…you scared her. She thought she’d lost you and I think ever since then she’s been waiting for the day you decided you liked your life in France better. But you didn’t lose her trust. If you’d lost her trust, she’d be long gone, Sweetheart.”

 

Lexa exhales shakily, exhausted and daunted by this mammoth of a day.“I’m so confused, Abby.”

 

“Why, sweetheart?”

 

“Because…because I’m _angry._ I’m still so angry that she never gave me the chance to prove the picture wrong. And she just…kicked me out so easily. I lost her _and_ Lexie all at once—“

 

“I know, Lexa. I know. And that wasn’t fair, and she knows that—“

 

“I know, I…I’m not done,” Lexa says softly.

 

“Okay. Go on.”

 

“I’m angry with her, yes. But I’m angry with myself,” Lexa continues. “And I’m embarrassed for how I behaved three years ago. I was terrified. I was so scared I’d end up like my foster parents, that’d I’d screw Lexie up just like me. I thought it was better if I was gone, and I never…I never fucking apologized for abandoning them like that. And Clarke, god _Clarke._ She gave up everything. Her life. Her job. And she never told me what that did to her. She never told me.” Lexa shakes her head, realization hitting her. “And I never asked.”

 

Abby slides in next to Lexa and pulls her close, squeezing her tightly. As tightly as she can without hurting her. “Your love for her is so fierce, Lexa.” Lexa nods, sniffling. “And so is hers for you. I know you can overcome this. You both just need to get better at communicating.”

 

“I’m so ashamed,” Lexa whispers.

 

Abby nods. “So is she, hon. But you two can do better. I know you can.”

 

“I don’t know how.”

 

Abby sighs. “I think you should see a couple’s therapist.”

 

Lexa nods. “I’ll do anything.”

 

//

 

The second time Lexa walks, she has to sneak past Abby’s sleeping form, as she shuffles out of the guest room and up the stairs, slowly, to their bedroom.

 

Clarke looks stressed, even in sleep. All wrapped up tight into herself, forehead scrunched, eyes clenched. Lexa’s brand new stitches sting and tug as she lowers herself to the bed. She ignores it and drags herself up next to her wife. “Clarke,” she whispers, kissing her on her creased forehead. “Baby.”

 

Clarke’s blinks away easier than expected and stares at Lexa, sleepy and confused. “Lex?”

 

“Hey, baby.”

 

Clarke swallows, weary and nervous at the show of affection. It’s new and undeserved and she has no idea what to do with it. “Are you okay? Are you hungry?” Clarke starts to sit up, but Lexa shakes her head and gently presses her back down, urging her to relax. But, as if she’s suddenly had a realization, Clarke jerks up and gapes at her. “How did you get up here? Did you walk up the stairs?”

 

“Well, I sort of more like crawled,” Lexa chuckles, but Clarke is far from amused.

 

“ _Lexa_.”

 

“ _Clarke_.”

 

“This isn’t a joke. You were _impaled,_ Lexa. But a fucking street sighn. I almost _lost_ you. You cant,” Clarke begins stuttering, her emotions besting her, “you can, just, just _walk_ up the stairs!”

 

“Hey,” Lexa soothes, bringing Clarke back down, persistent against even Clarke’s strongest. resistance, “lay down. Just lay down with me. I’m okay.”

 

Clarke places her hand gently over Lexa’s stomach. “You have to be careful, Lexa,” she whispers, and Lexa hates the tears that coat her wife’s beautiful blue eyes. The only consistent thing left in their relationship, it seems.

 

“I was careful.”

 

Clarke deliberates, but eventually nods, then pulls away from her slightly, confused and timid again. “What are you doing?”

 

Lexa looks at herself, then Clarke. “I’m…laying with my wife.”

 

“Why?” The look of hurt Lexa can’t help has Clarke immediately apologizes. “No, I’m sorry, I just meant…I…”

 

“Why now?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“I missed you.”

 

Clarke’s lip does a quick little shake before she pulls it between her teeth.

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke.”

 

Clarke looks disgusted and shakes her head violently. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Lexa. I was…I was a bitch. I mean, honestly. I was so cruel. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“Oh, but I did, sweetheart,” Lexa says shakily. “I did.”

 

“Lex, what—“

 

“Paris?”

 

This silences Clarke as she averts her eyes and tints red. “Oh,” she whispers. “Lex, it’s…it’s okay.”

 

“I abandoned you.”

 

“It was years ago.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I left you, all alone, and you never once complained.”

 

“You were scared.”

 

“I—wait, what?”

 

Clarke looks up at her with those big, gorgeous eyes. “You were scared, Lex. It’s okay.”

 

“You…you knew?”

 

Clarke chuckles, softly. Sadly. “Of course I knew. You’re my wife. I’ve known you your whole life. I know when you’re running away.”

 

Lexa practically gapes. She thought she’d been so clever. So subtle in her fear. Masquerading around like she absolutely had to be there for her company’s opening. Had to be there to start things up, run it for a few months, make sure everything was fine, despite knowing it was more than fine. “Why did you _let_ me?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “I didn’t want to lose you,” she whispers. “I knew you were scared, and I didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t ready for.”

 

“Weren’t you scared?”

 

Clarke smiles, peacefully, and it’s the most beautiful thing Lexa’s ever seen. “Terrified,” she says. “But I got Lexie out of it, and then it was just…beautiful.”

 

Lexa closes her eyes, let’s the tears fall unrestricted.

 

 

 

“Hey,” Clarke coos,” hey, now. Lex. What’s wrong?”

 

“You knew…and you just let me go. You never even punished me for it.”

 

“I’d say you got it pretty good with those divorce papers.”

 

Lexa looks at her. Really looks at her, starting to understand. “Is that what that was?”

 

Clarke looks back, and it’s like something settles between them. Something years in the making, finally settling. It’s like coming home, once and for all, tired and battered, but better for it. “I think so,” she whispers. “I don’t think I ever really forgave you, even though I understood where you were coming from. I thought I’d lost you, and…I guess I just feel like I’ve spent the last three years trying to hang onto you. I was never sure if you ever really came back to me.”

 

Lexa nods, her hair swishing on the pillow as the only sound in their soft, quiet room. “I’m so sorry, Clarkey.” She boldly kisses her wife on the head, and to her amazement, to her ecstatic relief, Clarke leans into it.

 

“I’m sorry too. I was way out of line. And even if I was angry with you about Paris, I should have never kept you from Lexie.”

 

Lexa nudges their foreheads together, breathes in her wife’s sweet smell for the first time in ages. “I missed her, but I trusted you with her. You’re an amazing mother, Clarke.”

 

Clarke smiles. “So are you. She loves you so much.”

 

Lexa laughs, wet and full, “I love her too. I love _you,_ Clarke.”

 

Clarke cries next, thick and cathartic, draining out of her as years of fear and heartache start to find closure. “Still?”

 

Lexa nods. “Of course. Do you think you can forgive me?”

 

Clarke chuckles. “Already done. I’m not gonna ask you to forgive me, Lex. I told you that…at the accident. But can you do something for me?”

 

“Anything, Clarke.”

 

“Can you promise to stay? As long as you want to, promise you’ll be here. Present and communicative. And if things get bad or scary, don’t run. Just talk to me.”

 

Lexa bites her lip, embarrassed and hopeful. “I can do that.”

 

“And one last thing,” Clarke whispers.

 

“Like I said…anything.”

 

Inching closer, eyes shut and watering. Clarke sniffs and grabs at Lexa’s shirt. “Will you kiss me?”

 

Lexa, elated and full, laughs and does just that. “Forever,” she whispers a moment later. “Forever.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Clarke bounces her wailing newborn up and down, her own tears making it hard to see where she’s going as she paces the halls. Her pelvis and cervix ache, but still she walks. Over and over, covering every inch of her large, empty home._

_“Please, baby. Please hush. Mommy’s here.” She bounces and coos and hugs and does everything she can, but her tiny daughter is distraught and unappeasable._

_She tries Lexa’s cell. It’s noon in Paris, and she hopes, almost prays, that she’ll catch her on some kind of lunch break. Just talk. Or maybe cry. Anything but this suffocating aloneness._

_It rings and rings, barely heard over the sound of her daughter’s screams that split the quiet nighttime._

_She hangs up. Tries her mother, fruitlessly. She knows she’s in surgery. But she just needs someone, anyone, to talk to, and it’s too late to call a friend._

_An hour passes—a long, loud, excruciating hour—before Clarke finally gives up on the phone calls and the pacing, and collapses into the nursery chair, rocking back and forth._

_“You’re okay, princess. My sweet little one,” she coos. “You’re okay.” Clarke throws her head back, let’s out a shaky breath and tries to curb her exhausted tears. She cradles the baby close, bringing her up just under her chin to kiss and smell the soft, sweetness of her bald, little head. “Mommy’s here,” she mutters, sniffing through her words. “I’m here, baby.”_

_//_

Lexa listens to Clarke’s story with tears in her eyes, her hand instinctively moving to grasp Clarke’s across the couch. She doesn’t look up for fear of what she’ll meet in their new therapist’s eyes.

 

Clarke takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, but that doesn’t make the rest any easier.

 

“I just felt so alone,” Clarke sighs, continuing. “I was in way over my head, but I was proud and stubborn so I just. Suffered through it.”

 

Their therapist nods, hums and scribbles some more on her notepad. The incessant scratching of her pen drives Lexa nuts. The woman finally looks up over her square glasses and give Clarke an encouraging smile. “And did you tell Lexa this?”

 

Clarke shakes her head.

 

“Why not?”

 

Clarke looks down. “I was proud of her,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want to take away from her accomplishments. Her dream, since as long as I can remember, has been to have a multi-national corporation and she finally did it. I wanted her to have her dream.”

 

“You’re my dream,” Lexa cuts in, gazing at her emphatically. “You.”

 

“And how about Lexie?” The therapists asks innocently, but it makes Lexa bristle.

 

“Of course. But I didn’t wrong Lexie. I wronged Clarke and Clarke needs to know that she’s my everything. And that—“ She turns to Clarke, “—I’d give up my company in a second if I had to choose.”

 

“I don’t want you to ever have to choose, Lex,” Clarke says, shaking her head.

 

“But if I had to—“

 

“Lexa,” the therapist calls, gently interrupting, “I want to talk a little bit about your experience in Paris. Is that okay?”

 

“Sure,” not really paying attention. She’s stuck on Clarke, staring at her for fear that if she looks away, she’ll miss something important again.

 

Clarke gives her a small smile, and then a teasing chuckle as she nudges Lexa and tells her to pay attention.

 

“How did you find your time in Paris? Good? Bad?”

 

“It was fine.”

 

More scribbling.

 

“Can you elaborate?”

 

“It was busy.”

 

“What was your ratio of work to play, so to speak?”

 

“It was all work,” Lexa snaps, defensively. She glares at that damn, mocking pen.

 

“Lex,” Clarke murmurs, barely audible, and runs her hand soothingly up and down Lexa’s thigh.

 

Lexa takes a breath, eyes on the notepad. “It was mostly work. I went out some.”

 

“Out?”

 

“Yes. Out.”

 

“Bars? Clubs?”

 

Lexa glares. “Museums. Schools. Things like that. I gave a lecture at one of their universities once.”

 

“You did?” Clarke turns to her, eyes curious and admiring. “You didn’t tell me that.”

 

“It wasn’t a big deal. Kind of last minute.”

 

“That’s neat, baby.”

 

Lexa sits up a little straighter, full of quiet pride.

 

“So, no parties? Drinking? That sort of thing?”

 

Lexa turns back to the therapist confused and annoyed as to why she seems hell bent on thinking the worst of her. “No,” she growls.

 

The therapist lays her pen down and sits back in her chair. “I’m just trying to establish a pattern, Lexa. Trying to get to the bottom of your relationship’s history, and why both of you tend to make the decisions you do regarding each other.”

 

“I’m not a fuck boy,” Lexa snaps, “if that’s what you’re trying to get at. I didn’t cheat on my wife in Paris and I didn’t cheat on her here. I may have been a coward by running away and staying there, but I was dedicated to my work while I was there. I wanted…I wanted to have something, wanted to _be_ something worth—“ she stops, swallows hard. She turns her attention to the window, unable to finish.

 

“Worth what? Lexa. Finish that thought…worth what?”

 

Lexa shakes her head and shrugs. “Nothing. Never mind.”

 

“Hey,” Clarke soothes, “talk to us. Talk to _me._ What were you gonna say?”

 

Lexa bites her lip, stares out at the blurry view of Central park. “I wanted—“ it comes out small and choked. She sucks air in and closes her eyes. “I wanted to be worth… _sticking around_ for.” She let’s out a small cry, and crosses her arms, annoyed at herself. “My parents left me. My foster parents dumped me.” She shrugs. “I wanted to be worth… wanting…for my child. I wanted her to be proud of me. Wanted to be something she could want. And I wasn’t. So I had to…do something.”

 

“I see. And Clarke--” The therapist picks up her pen again and turns to Clarke, ready to move on, but Clarke stops her.  
  
“Hold on, I’m sorry. Just one sec.” She turns to Lexa, fully faces her, and takes her hands. “Sweetheart.”

 

Lexa remains fixed on the window. Gently, ever so gently, Clarke palms Lexa’s cheek and turns her head. Clarke’s always thought Lexa’s eyes looked beautiful when wet, but today they just make her heart ache. “Lexa.”

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Lexa whispers, shaking her head. “I—“

 

“No, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I never knew…that you felt that way. You’re our shining star, Lexa. We love you so much.”

 

“But you were so ready to divorce me—“

 

Clarke opens her mouth to disagree, but she can’t. Lexa is right. Painfully right.

 

“May I?” The therapist offers, her presence almost forgotten. The couple nods. “Clarke, let’s talk about your thought process. Jumping straight to divorce. What was that about?”

 

“I don’t know. I...” she looks guiltily to the side, peering at Lexa. “I guess I just…wanted to make her hurt the way she hurt me. I wanted to it to be so drastic that she’d never ever hurt me again.”

 

“Is that typical for you? Do you often handle your pain this way?”

 

“I don’t…understand,” Clarke stutters. “What do you mean?”

 

“That kind of…retribution. Is that standard practice for you?”

 

“Well…I think it’s pretty standard practice for everyone, don’t you?”

 

“I’m not concerned with everyone. I want to hear about _you._ ”

 

Clarke hesitates, feeling the same defensiveness she’d heard from her wife just a moment ago when she was in the hot seat.

 

“Clarke’s not a spiteful person,” Lexa offers when her wife remains silent. “But she hurts deeply. She feels everything deeply.”

 

“Do you find your emotions hard to control, Clarke?”

 

“Sometimes,” Clarke murmurs, leaning into her wife’s arm now. Thankful and longing for the support.

 

“Who would you say has more control: you or your emotions?”

 

“I think, me. But I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know? Can you elaborate?”

 

Clarke sighs and looks down at her hands. She’s never shared this before. It’s embarrassing and terrifying. But if there was ever a time, now would be it. “I don’t always know if what’s happening is actually happening.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Clarke audibly swallows, like a caricature gulp, but it’s not funny, it’s awkward and embarrassing and she hates it.

 

“It’s okay, Clarke. You’re okay.” Lexa nudges her and kisses her on the head.

 

Clarke nods, gathering courage. “Sometimes…I don’t trust myself…my _reactions._ I often question whether I’m having an appropriate response, and I never really know how to tell.”

 

“Is that why you never bring things up?” Lexa asks before the therapist can butt in.

 

Clarke looks up at her, wide eyed and trusting. “I think so,” she whispers. “I don’t know.”

 

Lexa turns to the therapist. “Clarke rarely stands up for herself. She let’s people do shitty things and rarely ever reacts the way most people would.”

 

“Because I never know if I’m taking things too hard. I’ve always been told I’m sensitive.”

 

“Empathetic,” Lexa offers as a gentler alternative.

 

The therapist once again puts down her pen, but this time she sets her whole set up aside, and Lexa immediately breathes easier. “This is what I’m hearing,” the therapist begins, leaning towards them with intelligent eyes. “Lexa, you have a hard time feeling worthy. You blame yourself for your parents’ and step-parents’ absence, so when you are fearful, you place yourself in distracting situations, often by distancing yourself from the matter. Such as moving to Paris for six months during Clarke’s pregnancy.”

 

Lexa nods. Sounds about right, even though it twists nauseatingly in her stomach.

 

“And Clarke, you have a hard time trusting.” Clarke snorts—she doesn’t need a therapist to tell her that. “What you may not have considered, though, is that I think you have the hardest time trusting _yourself._ You don’t trust others in your life to be gentle with you, but you also don’t trust yourself to determine when your boundaries are being crossed. Thus, you either resign yourself to the treatment or you lash out in overreaction. Like the divorce papers.”

 

Clarke hadn’t considered it that way before, no. But it makes sense. The panic. The anxiety attacks that always seemed to stem from the endless questions that constantly ran through her mind when she was upset. Often questions that contradicted themselves. Questions that made everyone the enemy, even herself. Questions that made trusting even her reality sometimes difficult.  “Yeah,” she mutters. Lexa slides her arm behind her and wraps around her back as if to say, ‘I’m here. You can trust me.’

 

“Here’s what I want to work on, then,” the therapist continues. “Lexa, we need to help you get better at articulating your fears and dealing with them constructively. Clarke, we need to help you become more sure of yourself and others around you. Especially Lexa. I’m gonna give you each a piece of homework that has two parts. One for the self and one for the relationship. For Lexa, I want you to start writing down, everyday, instances in which you feel or have felt unworthy and/or flighty. It doesn’t have to be something that happened that day. You can even write about Paris. It doesn’t matter as long as it’s everyday. Try to give at least three points. That’s for you. For the relationship, I then want you to take time, every night, and read those points to Clarke.” She turns to Clarke. “Clarke, I want you to really hear those points. Listen to what Lexa is telling you, regardless of whether you agree or not. If Lexa tells you that she doesn’t feel worthy because she thought the dinner she made tasted poorly, even if you think it was the best meal of your life, I want you to hear what Lexa is saying. Then discuss. It’s not up to you to make everything go away, but do your best to reassure her that she has worth to you. As a friend, as a wife, as a mother, etc. Can you do that?”

 

They both nod, Clarke taking notes on her phone. It makes Lexa smile to see the dedication. She bends down and kisses her briefly on the head.

 

“For Clarke, this is a little trickier given your history with DPD. We need to focus on three layers, here. Trusting yourself, trusting Lexa, and trusting your reality. The latter should not pose too much of a threat outside of your panic attacks. Would you say that’s true?”

  
“Yeah,” Clarke mutters, eyes still on her phone, though Lexa can see that it’s because she’s feeling shy, her fingers having since stopped typing.

 

“Alright. Then for you, I want you to make a list of things that have made you distrust either yourself or other people. Maybe there are times when it’s been both. Then, I want you to write down the first emotion that comes to mind when you remember those events and people. Don’t question, or second guess. Just the first thing that comes to mind whether it’s sadness, anger, betrayal, vulnerability, etc.  Now, here’s the important step. I want you to look at those emotions and I want you to tell yourself, out loud, ‘Yes, that’s right, I was x,y,z.’ Let yourself hear it, let yourself believe it without any fear of repercussion or conflict.  Can you do that?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“Good.”

 

“How can I help her?” Lexa pipes up, eagerly.

 

“I have something I want you two to work on together, don’t worry. Clarke, I want you to talk to Lexa about your time with Lexie while she was in Paris. In full, with as much detail as you can remember. Talk about your day to day schedule, things that made you laugh. Things that made you cry. Talk to her about Lexie’s milestones and setbacks. Help Lexa understand what that time was like for you. Help her to connect that time to you and Lexie. When you’re talking about it, I want you to tell her the times you wish she’d been there. Specifically, if it’s because you were feeling overwhelmed or scared. But be careful how you do this. Don’t blame Lexa for not being there. Don’t punish for it. Simply talk with her about how characteristics of hers would have been appreciated. Show her that you valued and value her.” She turns back to Lexa. “Lexa, this is going to do two things. This is going to help you feel more a part of that time and help repair those lost connections. It’s also going to help you understand Clarke’s mindset and her emotions from that time that are very likely still lingering. This will help you help her identify when there are hidden emotions and circumstances driving her decisions. But don’t ever tell Clarke what she is feeling or that what she is feeling is wrong. Rather, be her ally. Help her trust herself by trusting her. By you trusting her, and helping her to trust herself, that’s going to help her start to trust you.”

 

The therapist scoots back into her chair and settles, hands crossing in her lap. “Yes? Any questions?

 

They shake their heads silently, still processing everything they’ve been told.

 

“No? Good. In the meantime, Lexa I want you to keep seeing your individual therapist, and Clarke…I want you to consider individual therapy as well. I don’t think you need to go back on medication. Putting you back on Sertraline will hinder your ability to focus on and trust your emotions. But I do believe it’d be helpful for you to check in with someone for your individual needs at least once a week. If you’d like, I can set you up with a referral at check-out.”

 

//

 

The park is peaceful at this time of day. Most everyone still at work or on their way home to get dinner started or pick up the kids.

 

“How’re you feeling?” Clarke laces her fingers with Lexa’s as they stroll, waiting for Abby to hand Lexie off.

 

“Uh, good. Yeah, good.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Lexa nods, though no, she isn’t sure. She’s good, definitely, good. But…there’s something else too. She cocks her head. She’s…she’s overwhelmed. And worried. And _excited_ for the future. “It’s just a lot to take in,” she mutters.

 

Clarke hums and presses her cheek to the outside of Lexa’s arm.

 

“You?”

 

“Oh, I’m good. I meant…I meant more your stomach,” Clarke chuckles, smiling shyly.  
  
“ _Oh.”_ Lexa looks down at herself. “Yeah, I’m okay. Little sore.”

 

“Should we sit?”

 

Lexa looks around, eyes appreciating and lingering on the fall leaves, the pink cheeked pedestrians milling about in excited undertones now that the snow has finally thawed. She smiles, content. “How about some hot chocolate?”

 

//

 

Lexa watches Clarke sip her hot chocolate like it’s a dance. Her pretty, pink lips around the rim. The delicate swallow in her neck. The flush of her cheeks at the heat. When Clarke pulls away, there’s whipped cream on her nose, and Lexa nearly bursts.

 

Gently, adoringly, she brushes the cream away with her finger, eyes trying to find a place to land. She brushes her thumb over her cheekbone, down her jaw. It’s familiar and new, all at the same time. Their physical affection having become shaky and unsure after everything. But Lexa can’t help herself today. Not when Clarke is looking up at her like she is—all wide, wet, blue eyes.

 

“I love you, Clarke,” she whispers, fingers still dancing over her soft, pale skin.

 

Clarke is awed, trapped and entranced by Lexa’s sudden tenderness. “I…love you too,” she sighs, stepping in closer. Lexa’s hands drop to her hips, gently tugging her in until they’re inches away from flush. 

 

“We’re going to be okay.”

 

Clarke nods, gazing up at her still. “I know.”

 

“I think I’d like to take you on a date.”

 

Clarke smiles, her stomach flipping in a pleasant, almost adolescent way. “Okay.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She nods, biting her lip. “Yeah.”

 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Lexa asks, grinning because she knows exactly what Clarke is doing.

 

Clarke shrugs, feigning indifference. “I dunno. Gotta check my calendar.”

 

“Think you could pencil me in? Seven o’clock? Arkadia?”

 

Clarke blinks. “Arkadia?”

 

“Yeah…is that okay?”

 

“It’s…pricey. Fancy, I mean.”

 

Lexa runs her hands through Clarke’s hair. “I miss wining and dining you. Wooing you.”

 

Clarke drops her forehead, resting against Lexa’s. “You do woo me,” she whispers.

 

“I have a lot of making up to do,” Lexa admits, hands stilling. But Clarke nuzzles and so she starts again with a small, gratified smile.

 

“So do I. Maybe more so.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “There’s no score, baby. We both…hurt each other. I just want to show you how much I love you.”

 

“I wanna show you too.”

 

“So meet me at Arkadia, then. Seven. We’ll have dinner. Maybe drive out of the city. Look at the stars.”

 

“Who will watch Lexie?”

 

“I’ll ask Raven.”

  
Clarke pulls back, eye brow arched. “Really?”

 

Lexa shrugs. “She owes me.”

 

“You’re okay with her watching Lexie. After what she did to you?”

 

“ _To me_ , being the operative. She loves Lexie. I trust that. She’s watched her hundreds of times before and we’ve never had problems.”

 

Clarke considers it. “But do you really want to reward her with time with our daughter? She really hurt you, Lex. I’m happy keeping her out of our lives a little longer if that’s what you need.”

 

Lexa smiles at the offer. “I’m not rewarding her. I’m using her.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s healthy,” Clarke chuckles.

 

“It’s probably not. But I want to take you out, and I’d rather it be Raven than Bellamy or Octavia. At least Raven bothered to stay in my life…even if it was to tell me off. Bellamy and Octavia vanished like I was nothing. _That’s_ something I don’t trust with our child. I trust Raven’s consistency, at least.”

 

Clarke sighs. “If you’re sure.”

 

“We could ask Kane, but I think he’s working.”

 

“How about Anya?”

 

“I’ve got her buried in work. She’s got a lot to catch up on to replace Nia.”

 

“Maybe she can take the night off. She’d probably appreciate the break.” She boops Lexa on the nose, teasing.

 

“I’ll watch her.”

 

They turn to find Abby standing a bit away, a sleeping Lexie in her arms.

 

“Hey,” Clarke greets, softly as to not wake the little one up. “But you have work.”

 

Abby shrugs. “I’ll take off. This is important.”

 

“So is your job,” Lexa chuckles, “you’re chief of surgery.”

 

“Which means I don’t actually do much operating. I’ll have Kane cover, it’s not big deal. I want to do this for you two. You deserve it.”  

 

//

 

Clarke feels like a fool as she turns circles in front of the mirror. A giddy, nervous, happy fool.

 

“Clarke?” Abby calls from the stairs.

 

“I’m…I’m in the bedroom.” She gives herself another once over, turns to look at her dress’ lowcut back in the mirror. She catches a reflection of Abby’s smile in the door way and sighs. “Is it too much?”

 

“No, you’re gorgeous, babygirl.”

 

“Think she’ll like it?”

 

Abby steps into the room and runs her hands along Clarke’s sides, smoothing out the satin fabric, looking something akin to the way she had during Clarke’s first prom. “She’ll love it, Clarke. You look beautiful.”

 

Fretting, and fourteen all over again, she turns and searches for excuses. “You sure watching Lexie won’t be too much?”

 

“I’ve been watching Lexie for the entirety of her three years on this Earth, hon, I think we’ll be okay.”

 

“Yes, but she’s been moody lately. And she’s still being difficult to get down at night. Lexa and I can just reschedule, it’s not—“

 

“Clarke. Sweetheart.” Abby grips onto her arms, steadying, sure. “It’s going to be alright. You have nothing to be afraid of. After all, you’ve done this a few times before,” she teases.

 

Clarke swallows and deflects her eyes. “But what if everything is different now? What if we don’t even know each other anymore?”

 

“Hey,” Abby tilts her daughter’s chin and catches her worried eyes. “You’ve known Lexa your entire life. You two got each other from the start, even I could see it. I thought you were a little young at fourteen to be declaring your undying love, but I could also tell it was something special, so I let it go. And look at you two now. Fifteen years and a beautiful daughter…that doesn’t come from two people who can’t get over a few obstacles.”

 

Clarke is silent for a moment, blinking away her emotions. She shrugs, ashamed and almost disbelieving. “But I tried to _divorce_ her, Mom. And all of our friends…they just turned on her so easily when she was all alone and I let it happen.”

 

“There’s no way you could have known they would do that, Clarke—“

 

“Of course I knew they would.” Clarke laughs at herself. “Of course. They’ve been critical of Lexa since day one and _never_ failed to let the both of us know. I thought it’d finally be better after marriage or hell, after we had a child together. But I knew…and still, I let them stay in our lives when I should have been more protective. She’s my _wife_ and I just let these people continue to shit on her because—what? Because I liked their company? Because they’re convenient?”

 

“Hey now,” Abby soothes, trying and failing to keep up with Clarke’s ramping emotions as her daughter paces the room. She catches her near the bathroom and grabs her face in her hands. “Hey. Be still.”

 

Clarke stays, breathing hard, eyes a little too wide.

 

“You’re beating yourself up for way too much, Clarke. I know you feel like you need to punish yourself, but that’s enough of that. You both made poor choices, you both endured pain by the other’s hand, and guess what? You both found your way back to each other. It’s time to stop taking score. Lexa has forgiven you, you’ve forgiven Lexa. Let yourself breathe, Clarke.”

 

“I just—“ Clarke wipes her nose, child-like, on the back of her wrist. “I can’t stop wondering what wouldn’ve happened if she hadn’t gotten in the accident. I mean, that’s why we made up, right?”

 

Abby clucks her tongue at her. “You and I both know that’s not why you made up. The accident, though terrible and traumatizing, just helped speed up the process a little bit. You would’ve gotten here eventually. You love each other too much not to have.”

 

“I just don’t know if I deserve to be back here with her. When I think back, I just feel like I’ve been hurting her for _years._ And I never really knew until I was angry enough at my friends to open my eyes and realize just how shitty they’ve been to her our entire lives. What kind of wife—“

 

“Clarke, stop.” Abby’s grip becomes a little firmer, though still gentle. “You are not a bad person. You are not a bad wife. If Lexa was miserable or unhappy with your friends, she would have done something about it long ago. I know you love your wife and you want to protect her from all the bad in the world because of everything she’s been through, but Lexa is not a child, Clarke. She is a remarkably strong, intelligent woman. You did not put her through anything she wasn’t willing to go through.”

 

“But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Clarke asks quietly. “She went through it for me. Because I insisted on keeping them around.”

 

“Sometimes we do things we don’t want to for the people we love, Clarke. That’s normal.”

 

“But what have I ever done for her?”

 

“Clarke,” Abby chides, but Clarke stares at her blankly. Abby sighs. “Your contract with MOMA? Your social life for the past three years? Your sanity in the months after Lexie was born? You have done more than enough, Clarke. So has she. It’s time to stop looking at the past and just move forward together.” She kisses Clarke on the forehead. “There’s so much love there, sweetheart. Please don’t waste it. Now, go finish getting ready.”

 

Clarke wants to object, but Abby wipes away a stray tear on her cheek and shakes her head. “You’re such a good girl, Clarke. Let yourself be happy.”

 

With a shaky, resigned sigh, Clarke nods and turns back towards the mirror. “You really think this is okay?”  

 

“I think you’re going to take her breath away. When’s she getting home?”

 

“She’s gonna meet me there. She’s coming straight from work.”

 

“How’s that going for her? Being back?”

 

Clarke players with the necklace at her collarbone, adjusting and readjusting the height nervously. “I think it’s good. She’s spending too much time on her feet, but it’s helping her mind. She’d been so restless.”

 

“How’s her scar tissue? Is she rolling every night?”

 

 Clarke grimaces for Lexa’s sake. “I think so? I know how much it hurts her, so I don’t know if she’s doing it every night.”

 

“You don’t see her doing it?”

 

“Well…” Clarke stammers, blushing. “We’re not sleeping together yet.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“We just thought…that, I don’t know, maybe we needed some time to get back to being…us…first.”

 

“I’m confused. Are we talking sleeping together or _sleeping_ together.”

 

“Oh my god, I’m not having this discussion with you.”

 

Abby furrows. “I’m just concerned, Clarke. You mean you’re still not back to sharing a bed?”

 

Clarke shrugs sheepishly.

 

“And whose idea was that _actually_?”

 

“Both.” Abby cocks her brow. Clarke rolls her eyes. “Mine.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“It just feels weird, mom, okay? We’re like… _dating_ again or whatever this weird thing is. I feel like we’ve jumped back in time and sleeping next to each other just feels really fast. After everything we’ve been through. I want to take things slow so that we don’t miss anything again. Because when I’m with her…like physically…everything just melts away and it’s like I don’t notice anything other than how wonderful she feels. And I can’t afford to be distracted. Not when we’re trying to heal and fix our issues.”

 

Abby nods slowly, obvious in her lingering confusion.

 

“What?” Clarke snaps, defensive and nervous and oh so emotional.

 

“Nothing, I’m just surprised is all. I would have thought you’d be all over each other after making up.”

 

“Well we were, at first. At the hospital. But then I felt like I took advantage of her state to satisfy my own cravings to have her near. It’s not like she could have put up a fight against me sleeping in her hospital bed if she’d wanted to.”

 

“You sleeping in her hospital bed and doting on her helped heal her faster, Clarke, I believe that one hundred percent. There’s no way she should be as far along as she is now after an accident like that. Your love is what made the difference. She had a reason to fight.”

A small smile fights its way onto Clarke’s face for the briefest of moments before Clarke shrugs. “Still. I just want to be back to normal before we sleep together again.”

 

“Sleep together? Or _sleep_ together?”

 

“I’m so not having this discussion with you.”

 

“What? Now, you’re a prude too?”

 

Clarke grins and finally drops the necklace, leaving it where it is. “I’m a lady. Ladies don’t kiss and tell.”  

 

Abby chuckles. “Well miss lady, you better get going or you’ll be late. Not very lady-like.”

 

Clarke stills, the inevitability of her reality finally unavoidable. She looks at her mother like a scared child. “So this is it?”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Clarke. She’s your wife. You’ll have a great time. If you ever leave that is.”

 

Clarke glares, following her mother out of the room. “Where’s my baby? I want to say bye before I go.”

 

“She in her play pen in the living room.”

 

“Alone?!”

 

“I’ve got the monitor, Clarke, and she’s confined to a three feet by three feet space. She’s fine.” She urges her down the stairs.

 

“But she’s my baby.”

 

“And you’re _my_ baby. And I need you to quit acting like one and go meet your wife.”

 

//

 

Clarke can’t stop smiling as she watches Lexa, tall and beautiful and frazzled, rush across the street to meet her. With her pink cheeks and perfectly-fitted gray suit, her silky hair and elegant, black, knee-length coat, Clarke swoons, unabashed and proud.

 

Though when Lexa gets close, and stops in front of her, suddenly she’s mindless and speechless and trembling with nerves. Lexa says something, probably “hi,” and kisses her on the cheek like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but Clarke is lost and shy and pink with embarrassment.

 

She catches a few more of Lexa’s words here and there as they walk into the restaurant. Things like “Sorry I was late,” and “Anya needed help with a report,” and “Rushed over as soon as I could.” She smiles out of habit at the hostess and smiles again when she catches Lexa’s “Woods, reservation for two,” and the hostess’ “Okay, right this way.”

 

It’s not until Lexa takes her hands under the table and gives them a gentle squeeze, and calls her name with sweet eyes and a concerned frown, that she blinks and everything comes back into focus, like turning the volume back up.

 

She blinks, even gives herself the slightest shake. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

Lexa smiles at her, small and timid and dazzling. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Clarke smiles, and squeezes back. “Yeah,” she reassures, “I’m great.”

 

“You got awfully quiet on me.”

 

Clarke smiles towards her lap. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, “I’m a little nervous I guess.”

 

Lexa chuckles softly and nods. “Yeah, me too.”

 

“Really?”

 

Lexa nods again. Clarke bites her lip in an attempt to contain her smile, but it shows through anyways. It’s stunning, Lexa thinks. “You’re stunning, Clarke,” she says aloud. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

 

Clarke’s insides squeal, but she forces herself to remain calm as she grins, cheeks hot. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

Lexa looks at herself, then frowns in fleeting disappointment. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to dress up. I wasn’t expecting work to take so long.”

 

“What are you talking about? You look beautiful, Lex.”

 

“I don’t like wearing the clothes I wore to work to a date. It feels lazy. I want you to know how serious I’m taking this. This is really important to me… _you’re_ really important to me.”

 

Clarke’s not sure how much more of Lexa’s chivalry she can take before she implodes. Lexa had always been like this, smooth and romantic and so very sweet, even back in high school. Even when she was angry at the world and had every right to be. Even when she was the shy, terrified, but _intimidating_ little thing no body dared approach. Even then, when it came to Clarke, she was nothing but a romantic sweetheart, so kind it made Clarke’s heart ache.

When Clarke looks up and sees just how earnest Lexa is staring at her, just how emphatically, she wants nothing more than to burrow into her chest and hold her close, restaurant be damned.

 

Instead she swallows and smiles, shaking her head slightly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“I think you might be the sweetest person in the world, Lexa.”

 

It’s Lexa’s turn to blush. She does it so rarely that when it happens, Clarke can’t help but recall the handful of times she’s seen it before, and how each time made her stomach flip. She finds Lexa’s hand under the table again and laces their fingers together.  “Hey.”

 

Lexa grins. “Hey.”

 

“How was work?”

 

“It was good. Getting somewhere with Anya, I think. Indra did a good job keeping everything afloat while I was out. Now it’s just a matter of getting this Nia bullshit sorted out so that we can work back into the market again.”

 

“Is there still a hold on the company?”

 

Lexa nods, takes a sip of her water. “There will be until a court ruling.”

 

“And they still haven’t decided on a date?”

 

“They want to wait until the audit is complete since it’ll be admissible.”

 

Clarke frowns. “This is such a pain. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I know how hard you worked for your company.”

 

“It’s not going anywhere. We’ll be okay,” Lexa assures, but Clarke knows her wife well enough to hear the hint of doubt. “I’m glad we sorted out Lexie’s trust and college fund years ago. At least we don’t have to worry about her.”

 

“Will they take that though if they indict you for fraud?”

 

“At this point, they’re not looking to indict me. They can trace the money to Nia’s offshore accounts and can see it was being spent in her name for her own personal items. Worse case scenario, I’ll have to come up with whatever the difference is after they recover the remaining funds. Which I have many times over in our joint.”

 

“But that’s _your_ money. That you worked hard for. They can’t make you make up that money if you’re not the one who stole it, can they?”

 

“It’s gotta come from somewhere. They can reclaim Nia’s assets, but I don’t think it’ll cover it. I’d rather pay the difference then let the company take the hit.”

 

Clarke looks like she wants to argue, but instead she sighs. Lexa had built a multi-million dollar, international corporation from nothing in less than a decade. Lexa had been made to handle things like this. And she trusts her.

 

Her heart lurches when she realizes the implication of that thought. She trusts her. She _trusts_ Lexa. She always has. Just yesterday the therapist had told her she needed to learn how to trust Lexa but that’d never been the problem. She just needed to remember how to trust that she trusts Lexa. And that would take examples. Reminders. Reminders just like this. “I love you,” she blurts, suddenly not interested in ordering any longer.

 

Lexa seems to startle for a moment before breaking out into a beaming smile. “I love you too, Clarke.”

 

“Hey, let’s-- Clarke pauses, second guessing herself. She should just breathe. Take a moment to calm down and have a nice, quiet dinner with her wife. But Lexa’s eyes are sparkling and her own hands are trembling, and she feels like a teenager again, open and fresh and falling so very deeply in love.

 

“Let’s, what?”

 

Clarke considers. She stares at Lexa’s expectant gaze and thinks, fuck it. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

//

 

Clarke thrums in the passenger seat of Lexa’s insanely expensive Mercedes as she pilots it through mud and grass to get to the New Jersey cliff edge overlooking the city. At first she’d worried about the car, but when she’d looked over at her wife, Lexa had looked almost gleeful as they turned off the old single-lane road towards their old spot.

 

“Do you think it still looks the same?”

 

Lexa looks over at her just long enough to grin and return to the road, or rather, field. “I hope so.”

 

“I wonder if the tree’s still there.”

 

“Me too,” Lexa murmurs, craning to see. They climb and climb until the land finally starts to flatten out again and a distinct glow comes into view.

 

Lexa pulls the car to a stop and stills, both hands on the wheels, her face focused forward.

 

“Lex?”

 

“I remember the first time we came up here like it was yesterday,” Lexa mutters, eyes glazed like she’s remembering.  Clarke reaches out and wraps her hand over Lexa’s, squeezing.

 

//

 

_Clarke stops to catch her breath as she finally comes upon Lexa’s rusted old, red truck. Annoyed and angry and so very relieved, she storms the rest of the way up the hill and has nothing but venom when she gets to the top._

_But then there’s Lexa’s hunched, little form, sitting atop a fallen tree, knees pulled to her chest as she stares out at the city below. Looking so small and alone, Clarke’s anger melts away into just relief as she walks up behind her, calling her name softly to avoid startling her._

_She breaks when Lexa turns to look at her, eyes wet and puffy._

_“Lex—“_

_“What are you doing here, Clarke?”_

_Clarke winces at the tone, but perseveres until she’s right beside her. “Can I sit?”_

_“You’re probably going to anyways, regardless of what I say, so go ahead.”_

_Clarke crosses her arms, shielding herself against Lexa’s barbs, and sits. “Lex, look—“_

_“You’re gonna talk too? Great.”_

_“Hey,” Clarke snaps, turning her body. Challenging Lexa. “Stop. You don’t get to be mean to me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”_

_“You certainly didn’t do anything right.”_

_Clarke glares and turns back towards the valley, all aglow from the city gridding out over its expanse. They don’t talk for a while, both too stubborn to be the first one to speak. It’s mostly Clarke who’s the stubborn one. For Lexa she supposes it’s the anger._

_As the seconds drag into minutes, without any distraction or movement, Clarke feels the sting of the April nighttime chill. Like the air can’t quite make up its mind between winter and spring, so it’s too warm for a coat, and too cold for no jacket._

_Lucky for Clarke, she’s got on nothing but a strapless dress and some Uggs. Better than heals she supposes as she looks down at her feet, grimacing at the mismatched outfit. She tilts a foot towards her and grimaces harder at the mud. Much better than heals, she thinks, glad she had the foresight to take them off before going off to look for her missing prom date._

_For the most part, she can keep her shivers under control. But when the wind picks up and whips against her bare shoulders, she’s a gonner. She makes a sound with the next wave of chills and twitches as her body shivers violently much to her dismay._

_She’s about to call it quits and tell Lexa to have fun sitting in the cold, when, wordlessly, Lexa peels out of her suit jackets and holds it out. All still while keeping her eyes glued in front of her._

_“Is this a peace offering?” Clarke tries._

_Lexa doesn’t say anything._

_“Because if that’s a peace offering, I accept, but you can keep your jacket and we can go sit in a café or something like normal people and talk where it’s warm.”_

_“You can leave,” Lexa says simply._

_Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes. “We were doing so well.”_

_“Just take the jacket, Clarke.” Lexa shoves it over and drops it into Clarke’s lap._

_For a second, Clarke thinks about shoving it back. Making a point. But that would only antagonize Lexa further, and really, all Clarke wants is to take Lexa back to the dance and kiss until her lips hurt. So she puts on the jacket and scoots a little closer, adamant even when Lexa starts to drift away. “Can you just talk toe me?” She sighs._

_“You know you could have just told me.”_

_She’s surprised by the response. It makes her sit up, shift herself into awareness because suddenly Lexa is responding, and maybe they’ll finally get somewhere. “Told you what?”_

_Lexa’s jaw tightens._

_“What, Lex?” Clarke, like a feather, places her hand on Lexa’s arm._

_Lexa sighs, her head drooping. “That you were embarrassed of me.”_

_Clarke’s first response is to want to laugh at the absurdity of such a statement. “Embarrassed of you? What are you talking about?”_

_“You don’t have to pretend, Clarke. Echo told me everything. I get it.”_

_“Honestly, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. What did Echo tell you?”_

_Lexa purses her lips. Clarke has yet to see her eyes since she sat, but she can tell by the bob in Lexa’s throat that they’ll be shiny. “Why you didn’t want to go at first. Why you danced with everyone but me.”_

_Clarke furrows in confusion and shakes her head, mouth open to object, but not even sure where to begin._

_“I get why, Clarke. I don’t blame you. But the humane thing to do would’ve been to just let me stay at home like I wantede.”_

_“Lexa, what on earth—“_

_“Oh, don’t play innocent, Clarke. Echo—“_

_“Fuck Echo,” Clarke snaps. “She lied. Now shut up and listen.”_

_Lexa startles into silence and even Clarke is taken aback by her sudden show of confidence. But she recovers, refusing to lose Lexa over something so trivial. “Are you listening?”_

_Lexa nods._

_“Good. I don’t know what Echo said to you, but whatever it was, she certainly didn’t hear it from me, and—no, hold on. You said you were listening.”_

_Lexa closes her mouth with a huff._

_“I didn’t not want to go to prom with you, Lex. I just knew how much you hate that kind of thing, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and make you feel like you had to ask. But honestly, Lexa, I wanted to DIE waiting for you to ask me. Do you know I was the only freshman there? I know that’s stupid and petty, but it made feel good, because I was a freshman going to prom with the most gorgeous junior in school and I felt fucking awesome. You make me feel awesome, Lexa. I know that sounds lame, but…I don’t know I to explain it. It just felt really good to be there. To be there and be yours. Do you get that? I’m yours Lexa. And nothing else is more important to me than that.”_

_“But you acted like you didn’t want me there,” Lexa says, voice small._

_“I didn’t mean to, Lex. I really didn’t. I’m so sorry if I made you feel that way. You were sitting down at our table most of the time. I thought you were happy to watch. You didn’t want to dance when I asked.”_

_“Echo said I was your latest charity case. First Finn, then me. I thought you were embarrassed and just asked me to dance to be nice.”_

_“When exactly did Echo talk to you?”_

_Lexa shrugs. “Like before. I don’t know. We were getting out of the limo.”_

_Clarke groans, rubbing her forehead. “Is that why you were acting so sullen? I thought you just didn’t want to be there. Lexa, look at me.”_

_She places her hands on Lexa’s cheek and squeezes briefly. “Echo doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re not a charity case. You’re the most amazing girl I know and I can’t believe you’re going out with me. I mean honestly, you’re such an ego boost you have no idea.”_

_Lexa cracks a small smile and Clarke leans in quickly to kiss it, ever enamored by that look. They’re both blushing when Clarke pulls back, heart pounding, still not quite used to being able to do that._

_“I would dance with you, every song, every minute, in front of a whole football stadium, if you let me. I’m so proud to be your date, Lex. Did you see Nylah when you walked in? She was practically drooling. I almost slapped her, because you’re mine, and only I get to drool over you.”_

_“I don’t think that look was for me, Clarke. You were standing right behind me.”_

_Clarke shakes her head. “No, it was for you, trust me. She’s got a thing for chicks in suits.” Clarke wraps the jacket around her shoulders tighter and breathes in the faint smell of Lexa’s perfume. Woody and spicy. “So do I,” she admits and grins._

_Lexa bumps into Clarke’s shoulder and sighs. “I’m sorry.”_

_Clarke leans her head on Lexa and holds her hand.  “One of these days you’re gonna believe me when I say you’re my entire world.”_

_“I’m not used to being anybody’s anything,” Lexa murmurs._

_“Well.” Clarke stands and draws Lexa up. “You’re my everything. And I want to dance with you.”_

_“You wanna head back?”_

_Clarke shakes her head and wanders over to Lexa’s truck. She throws the door open and turns the key in the ignition enough to power up the radio. Turning in to something a little less crackily then the others, she turns up the volume and flicks on the headlights._

_She holds out her hand and Lexa takes it, grinning. “Dance with me?”_

_“You’re a dork,” Lexa mutters, but her eyes are wide and adoring as she pulls Clarke into her chest_

_“But I’m your dork,” Clarke retorts and lays her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “Forever and ever.”_

_“You sure about that?”_

_Clarke nods. “Yeah.”_

_//_

Clarke reaches over and squeezes Lexa’s thigh. “I’m still your dork,” she whispers, smiling. “Just slightly better dressed.”

 

“Well, you did say forever.” Lexa looks back at her and grins. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were totally working that dress and Ugg combo.”

 

Clarke smacks her on the arm and laughs. “Don’t make fun of me. The nineties were a confusing time for everyone. And it was cold that night.”

 

Lexa stares lovingly, reminiscent, until Clarke goes shy and averts her gaze, fingers twiddling in her lap. “So do you wanna get out?”

 

“Yeah. Stay put.”

 

Before she can ask, Lexa is out and jogging around the car to open her door. She’s got a big, cheesy grin on her face when she sweeps it open and holds out her hand. “Shall we dance?”

 

Clarke chuckles. “We shall.”

 

//

 

They move quietly together, slow and easy with no real motivations other than to be close. Clarke is warm under Lexa’s jacket and against her chest, listening to the steady thrum of Lexa’s heart as it almost matches the song.

 

Lexa is decidedly more coordinated than she once was those ten odd years ago with Clarke and her Uggs wrapped up in her arms. But when she runs her hand up Clarke’s back as her wife nuzzles closer, Clarke thinks she’s never been more familiar.

 

Clarke presses her nose to her wife’s chest and breathes. “You smell good,” she murmurs.

 

Lexa hums, continues her swaying, too content to draw the energy to muster words.

 

“We’re gonna be okay right?” Clarke props her chin on Lexa and gazes up at her. Those wide, blue eyes. They make Lexa’s lungs ache.  

 

Lexa nods. Then, for emphasis, “yeah,” she whispers. “We’re gonna be more than okay.”

 

Clarke slides her hands up Lexa’s ribs, then over her shoulders and up her neck. She gently maps out Lexa’s jawline with the pads of her fingers, feather-light touches just for the sake of touch. “I love you, Lex. I always have.”

 

Biting her cheek because she’s tired of crying, Lexa uses her hands on Clarke’s hip to drag her wife up to her toes, drawing her lips closer and closer. Clarke smiles and Lexa bends to kiss it away, soft and timid, so much like their first time. As Clarke’s hand drops to grip Lexa’s collar and pull her closer, her fingers remember the feeling of Lexa’s thick, red hoody in her fist. The way the late night mist had made it damp to the touch as they sat in the middle of the lit-up soccer field and kissed for that first time.

 

//

 

_“Better?” Clarke whispers, breathless, as she pulls away from Lexa’s soft, pink lips._

_The stunned girl nods as her tongue sneaks out to explore the foreign, but amazing, new taste on her bottom lip._

_With her pupils still blown wide and hair in frizzy ringlets framing her face, Clarke thinks Lexa is the most gorgeous creature she’s ever seen._

_“You kissed me,” Lexa murmurs, just to hear it. To make sure it’s real._

_Clarke grins and nods. She nervously plays with her hair, tucking it behind her ear and averting her gaze._

_“If I’d known punching Murphy in the face would get me kissed I would have done it last quarter.”_

_Clarke is so surprised by Lexa’s humor she almost doesn’t react. But then, looking at this magical, mysterious girl in front of her, so rarely stationary and always quiet, Clarke falls so hard her chest aches, and she laughs until she’s crying._

_Lexa marvels right back at her, enjoying the site of her pink nose and hair sprinkled with tiny water droplets, laughing until her eyes sparkle. Surrounded by the mist rising up around them, encircling them in their own perfect shroud, Lexa swallows every rational thought telling her to run, and lurches forward. She grabs Clarke’s cheeks and does her best to taste the sound of Clarke’s laugh._

_//_

Clarke tugs on Lexa’s collar, pulling her invariably closer until she’s pressing so adamantly she can no longer breathe.  When Lexa’s hand slides into her dress through the back, gripping and tugging at her bare ribs, the feeling of skin on skin brings tears to her eyes.

 

A watery mewl slips pat her lips as Lexa’s uses her other hand to thread into her hair and hold her, a possessive and protective embrace she hasn’t had in so long she’d almost forgotten what it feels like.

 

Clarke pushes her hips forward, wanting the contact. Wanting Lexa. Wanting to _be_ Lexa’s again. Her body flushes from head to toe, arousal and love and hope heating her from the inside out until she wants to claw out of her dress. Lexa slides her jacket off of Clarke and drapes it over her shoulder to get it out of the way before scooping Clarke up.

 

Clarke doesn’t kiss her as she’s carried to the car, wanting to gaze at her. Take her all in with her glassy, green eyes and swollen pink lips. Clarke lives for Lexa like this. When she’s soft and wide open for Clarke, all of her hard edges and defenses melting away into a reverence Clarke has never quite understood but loves none the less.

 

Lexa lowers her to the hood of the car, chuckling slightly when Clarke hisses at the cold buries her face in the crook of her neck.

 

Her heartbeat ramps up and startles her breath when Lexa presses between her legs, firm and warm and translucent in her desire. Her mouth waters while her throat goes dry and adolescent sort of excitement runs through her because this isn’t familiar anymore. It’s exciting and new and filled with implications that have Clarke vibrating with nerves and anticipation.

 

Because Lexa wanted to wait. With her sweet gentleness, Lexa had wanted to wait until they were okay. Until Clarke knew, without a doubt, that Lexa loved her and was in it, that Lexa had forgiven her. That Lexa had been forgiven. Lexa, ever the sweetheart, had wanted it to be special and magical and romantic. Just like it’d been the first time. Just like it’d been every time.

 

Clarke barely hears the moan trickles into Lexa’s mouth—

 

But then Lexa is pulling away, panting and shaking her head because she can’t find words just yet, but she knows they need to stop.

 

She pulls away and holds Clarke’s cheeks and licks her lips, so beautiful and frazzled and unsure.

 

“Lex?”

 

“Not like this,” she pants, “not yet.”  She stares at Clarke, trying to implore more meaning than she can muster in words. Trying to not offend, trying to love, trying to take care, trying—

 

“Oh.”

 

And failing.

 

“I’m sorry, I just…”

 

“You don’t want to.”

 

“No, it’s not that. I want to. I do. God, I miss you. It’s just…” Lexa’s words die out because…because what is it exactly? Is it fear? Is it trust or anger or disinterest?

 

Clarke shifts uncomfortably atop the car and works the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders. She’s exposed and vulnerable and self-conscious trapped between the hood and Lexa’s strong thighs. Lexa who can’t even look at her. _Won’t_ look at her.

 

“Can I just—“ Clarke gently pushes on her chest, “get down,” she says making room for herself and sliding down from the car. Her anger grows the longer Lexa is silent until she’s mad enough to roughly push past Lexa in search of her discarded heels.

 

But Lexa grabs her forearm and hauls her back, apologies sputtering out of her before Clarke is even in front of her again. Clarke frowns, upset and confused and feeling like a fool.

 

But then Lexa steps into her space and wraps around her, hugging her. Just hugging her. Like they’d done so often in their early years. Just being together, being close. Intimate through proximity and tenderness alone, blocking out all of the darkness. The bullies for Lexa, Jake’s death for Clarke. They’d spent so many of their first years wrapped up like this. Soft and warm and together, alone against the world as they always said.

 

“Lex,” Clarke breathes, giving in and melting against her wife.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m so _worried.”_

“Why?”

Lexa pulls her closer, perhaps anticipating Clarke to pull away at her admission. For her part, Clarke runs her hands in assurance up Lexa’s long back, scratching between her shoulder blades the way she loves it.

 

“I’m worries that maybe you…maybe there’s still a small part of you that doesn’t believe me. I’m worried that there’s still a part of you that sees me cheating on you and I’m scared that if you do, and we sleep together, that…” she pauses, her broad shoulders shrugging and stooping.

 

Clarke pulls back and takes Lexa’ face in her hands. Her eyes flick across Lexa’s face like a pinball machine, trying to discern the answers in the lines of worry there. When Lexa doesn’t continue, just stares back at her with those emotive, transparent eyes, Clarke kisses her on the chin to see her smile and prompts her. “You’re worried that what? It’s okay, Lex, just talk to me. You’re worth it,” she adds, offering a small smile, “I want to hear what you have to say.”

 

Lexa considers.

 

“Please?”

 

“It will upset you.”

 

Clarke shakes her head, though she can’t be sure. She just trusts that Lexa will be gentle with her.

 

“I’m scared that if you still don’t fully trust me again…and you’re still seeing those images of me with another woman…that if we sleep together now, you’ll be...I don’t know.”

 

“What?” Clarke prompts gently.

 

“…disgusted.” Lexa’s hands find their way back to Clarke’s hips and settle.

 

“Oh sweetheart,” Clarke lifts Lexa’s chin and frowns sympathetically. “I could never be disgusted.”

 

“It’s just always been so good with us. From our first time to the last time, being with you… _making love_ to you—“ Lexa swallows, shaking her head as if to shake the emotions away. “It’s the best thing in the world,” she whispers, tight and hoarse. “I really don’t wanna mess that up…”

 

Clarke nods, drawing Lexa in for a quick kiss. “For the record, I do trust you. I do. I believe 100% that Echo and Nylah set the whole thing up and that you’ve never so much as looked at another woman. I trust you, Lexa. But, we’ll wait. We’ll wait until you’re sure, okay?”

 

“You don’t mind?”

 

Clarke looks down and smiles. She plays with the exposed patch of skin on Lexa’s chest from where she’d ripped the buttons of her shirt open. “I want you, don’t get me wrong.” She smooths the fabric down and pulls it back together. “But I’d wait forever if you needed me to.”

 

Lexa releases a thousand breaths worth of relief and slumps against her wife, nodding. “You know I want you too, right? Like…so much,” she says, chuckling.

 

Clarke chuckles too and nods. “Should we go home?”

 

“Were you sufficiently wined and dined?”

 

Smiling, Clarke pats Lexa on the butt and pushes her back upright. “Consider me satisfied.”

 

//

 

They’re quiet on the way home, but it’s an easy quiet. Stemming from comfort and familiarity.

 

As they cross back over into New York, Lexa takes Clarke’s hand into her lap and sighs.

 

So in love with you, Clarke thinks. “I’m so in love with you,” she says a second later, almost by accident.

 

Lexa just smiles and kisses her hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in celebration of Clexa Week 2017 Day 3: Stuck Together!
> 
> I need to proof it later, so please excuse any typos, but I wanted to go ahead and get it up for you since it's already a day late. I'm loving all your thoughts on this story. Thanks for the investment and love!!!

Clarke wakes to something deep and unsettled in her gut. It’s familiar and instinctual and so very strong it’d ripped her straight out of a heavy sleep into alert awareness. She blinks as she sits up and looks around, breathing hard through the stress of her pounding heart.

 

Her stomach lurches slightly, as it always does, when her hand finds the empty bed space beside her. She settles again when she remembers that Lexa is just fifty or so feet away, right downstairs.

 

She’s still straining to remember that sound—whatever had woken her up, so familiar on the edge of her senses—when it happens again. She’s just barely able to hear it, but the unmistakable sound of her daughter drifts up the stairs and tugs at her, engaging with her deepest instincts; a maternal pull that beckons her out of bed for a better grasp.

 

As she pads down the hall, she hears a fit of giggles, and smiles in relief. She follows the sweet, distinct melody of her daughter’s laughter, comforted by the familiarity of the sound. With a calm contentedness that had lately been flighty, at best, she wanders down the stairs and into the living room where she finds her little ball of giggles splayed out on her stomach on the living room floor.

 

With matching heads full of wild, chestnut hair, Lexa and Lexi roll back and forth, Lexa on her foam roller, Lexie on a full paper towel roll, laughing up a storm.

 

“It tickles, momma!” Lexie squeals and Lexa chuckles, shaking her head at her little antics. “Look, I Supergirl!” Lexie tosses her arms out to the side and erupts into a fresh set of giggles as she rolls forward and face plants.

 

“Careful.”

 

“I  careful.”

 

“Good.”

 

Propped against the door frame of the hallway, Clarke watches on adoringly, eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them. She bites her lip to keep from laughing as she watches on, never quite sure in moments like these how she’d manage to create this life for herself. Like straight out of a fairy tale, she’d gone from misplaced and misused to so very fulfilled and in love.

 

A mild sort of panic tugs at her chest when she remembers how she’d been so close to letting it all go, but it’s weak and fleeting. She’s learning and growing and healing, she can tell already.

 

“Why momma make funny faces?”

 

Clarke’s eyes drift over to Lexa’s prone form, catching her mid grimace.

 

“Momma’s sore.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I got a booboo on my tummy.”

 

“A booboo?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

Lexie slides off her paper towel roll and army crawls over to Lexa, nuzzling into her side. “I make better.”

 

Clarke and Lexa both smile, but as Lexa is focused on her rolling, Clarke’s eyes remain on her wife, roaming the length of her long, solid body. She drinks in her strong hips and slim core. Everything from her rippling shoulders and wide lats to her trim triceps, held in perfect ‘Ls’ keeping her upright, the left slightly smaller from where it’d atrophied in the cast. 

 

She knows she shouldn’t be ogling, but it’s Lexa. _Her_ Lexa. And she has her back and healthy and alive and she’s laying on their living room floor with their daughter full of sweet eyes and sweeter giggles and she can’t help but feel a deluge of emotion.

 

Her cheeks flush as she catches the dimples on Lexa’s lower back flex and accentuate with each roll, the tan skin standing out between the light blue of her pajama pants and stark white of her t-shirt. She pulls her lip in between her teeth and bites down, stifling herself. She almost laughs, staring at her wife as if she’s still a lust-struck teenager watching her girlfriend power through her workouts back in the high school gym.

 

Not able to stand the distance any longer, she steps into the room and chuckles when her baby squeals and jumps up to rush her and wrap her legs up in her tiny arms. Her eyes meet Lexa’s as she runs her hand through Lexie’s hair, and they share a small, open smile—fresh and full of potential.

 

“Morning,” Lexa greets and peels herself off the foam roller with a groan.

 

Clarke shares a sympathizing grimace and lugs Lexie up into her arms. “Morning. How was your rolling?”

 

Lexa flattens out and arches into a cobra stretch, hissing against the sting of the stiff scar tissue interlaced in her abs. “Rough,” she sighs, coming out of the stretch and crawling to her feet, “but getting there.” She crosses to her and places an easy, natural hand on Clarke’s hip as she kisses her on the cheek. “Sleep well?”

 

Clarke hums and leans into the touch, eyes fluttering, but all too quickly it’s gone and Lexa is talking about needing to go grocery shopping as she walks into the kitchen, leaving Clarke flushed and frozen with Lexie tugging at her necklace. “Don’t pull,” she murmurs absentmindedly as she watches Lexa go.

 

“Pwetty,” Lexa says in hushed awe.

 

Clarke wraps her hands around Lexie’s and gently pries the tiny little fingers away with a smile. “Thank you baby, but no pulling.” Lexie nods and lets her head fall to Clarke’s shoulder, tucking it into the crook of her neck as they follow after Lexa into the kitchen. “You hungry, pumpkin?”

 

Lexie nods, her silky little hairs tickling Clarke’s neck in a way that makes her smile because it still amazes her sometimes that she made something something so soft and sweet and warm—so filled with herself and Lexa and their fifteen years of history all rolled into this tiny human with her pink, puffy cheeks eyes and round, little nose pressed into the crook of her neck.

 

She runs her hand up her back as she lists through breakfast options, chuckling at her picky eater’s every “no.”

 

“Lexie,” Lexa warns loosely, “tell mommy what you want.”

 

“Nofing,” Lexie whines, shoving her head further into Clarke’s neck.

 

“What if we make extra special pancakes?”

 

Lexie considers, her little head perking up ever so slightly. “Mick mouse?”

 

“Yeah, we can do mickey mouse.” Clarke sets her down in her booster chair at the island and fixes her a sippy cup of apple juice before she slides over to Lexa. She wraps herself around her wife and presses her cheek into her firm, broad back, relishing this girl she loved and lost and loved again. This girl who she grew up with, who she spent her whole life with, growing and building and creating with. This girl who got rammed by a car and came back to her, stronger and softer than ever. She slides her hands up Lexa’s ribs and sighs.

 

Lexa catches her hands and draws them up, kissing her fingertips, nipping at one ever so gently to feel Clarke smile into the space between her shoulder blades. “Hey you,” she murmurs, pushing back into Clarke’s body just enough to reassure her wife that the touch is wanted and welcomed, still sensing that lingering hesitation in Clarke’s advances.

 

“Hey,” Clarke breathes. She trails a line of kisses across Lexa’s shoulders and lower neck, enjoying the feeling of her warm skin through the soft cotton of her t-shirt, wanting it. _Craving_ it.

 

“You’re touchy this morning,” Lexa hums, sweet and easy as to not offend.

 

“I miss you.”

 

Lexa turns from the dishes and grips Clarke’s hips, pulling her close. “You know you can come down if you get lonely, right? Just because we’re taking things slow doesn’t mean you have to suffer.”

 

Clarke drifts a tentative hand to Lexa’s stomach. “You’re still healing. I wanna give you your space.”

 

Lexa presses in close, her nose brushing Clarke’s, forehead to forehead, lips inches away. She nuzzles and Clarke leans into, the two of them so very warm and soft and close. “I’m okay.” Lexa’s breath tickles Clarke’s lips. She licks them and Lexa catches the receding tip of her tongue when she pushes in and kisses her.

 

Clarke breathes through her nose and lets herself be held in place by Lexa’s sure hands. All she can think about is how warm it all feels. Warm skin and warm hips and warm hands and even the air around them heating up and encompassing them in a warmth.

 

The moment is shattered when Lexie squeals and slams her cup down onto the counter, indignant at the lack of attention.

 

Both chuckling softly, Clarke and Lexa pull apart, slow and languid in their movements as the haze stubbornly clings to their senses.  Lexa kisses her on the head and smiles. “I’ll get the batter going.”

 

//

 

 Abby comes around more often these days, helping wherever she can. Sometimes it’s just to be a third pair of hands with Lexie. Sometimes it’s just to make lunch and Lexa through some new PT exercises after. Sometimes the family isn’t home, but Abby lets herself in and makes the place shine.

 

Other times, like today, she shows up after breakfast, whispers those magic words of “Chuckie Cheese” into the little one’s ear, and gives Clarke a pointed look as if to say, “utilize the alone time well.”

 

Which is how Clarke and Lexa find themselves here, awkwardly pressed between a window and a bookshelf in their local bookstore/cafe, squeezed into a space much too small for either of them.

 

“Remind me again why we’re hiding?” Clarke whispers as she tries to pull her neck back and alleviate some of the pressure from her chin on Lexa’s chest.

 

“That’s the chick,” Lexa responds, craning to see better.

 

“What chick?”

 

“The barista chick. The one I told you about when you got here.”

 

“I don’t— _oh._ The one who was _flirting_ with you?!”

 

“ _Yes._ Now, will you hush. She’ll find us.”

 

“Let her. I’d like to show her just how taken you are.”

 

Lexa grins and drops a quick kiss to the top of Clarke’s head. “Yeah?”

 

“So taken,” Clarke huffs. “So taken even Liam Neeson couldn’t find you.”

 

Lexa snorts and wraps her arms around Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer. “Good one.”

 

“Right? I just came up with it.”

 

“I liked it.”

 

“Is there a reason we’re still whispering?”

 

“Because she’s still there.”

 

Clarke peers around Lexa and rolls her eyes. “Babe, she’s literally just cleaning off tables.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t want her to come over here. She was quite… _forward._ ”

 

Clarke arches her brow, but elects to stay silent as she cranes around for another look.

 

“I can feel you ready to pounce,” Lexa says, chuckling.

 

“I’m not.”  

 

“You are. You’re like cat. Cute wiggly butt and everything.” She pinches Clarke’s butt for emphasis and Clarke yelps and glares at her, but she can’t hold back the smile that surfaces at Lexa’s antics.

 

“I’m not wiggling. I’m shifting. This isn’t exactly comfortable.”

 

“You used to like being pressed up against me and a bookshelf.” Lexa tosses her head back and pretends to recall a memory. “Ah, the college library stacks. Those were some good times.”

 

With a chuckle, Clarke pokes Lexa in the ribs and shakes her head, letting it fall to her wife’s shoulder as they settle into this new, old familiarity and youthful, jovial bliss they hadn’t had in a while. She sighs, quite comfortable (despite what she’d said) in the warm slant of the sun and the steady post of Lexa’s body. “Today was good,” she murmurs.

 

Lexa hums and runs her hands in agreement up and down Clarke’s back.

 

“Though, getting stuck in an alcove was not exactly on my list of things to do today.”

 

“I like to think of it as me being charming.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Mhm. Spontaneous. You used to like that about me.”

 

Clarke rises onto her toes and kisses Lexa on the tip of her nose. Chaste and silly and happy. “I still do. I love it about you. I love _you._ ”

 

“You know, I’m really enjoying the way you say that more often these days. I shoulda gotten hit by a car sooner.”

 

Clarke’s smile falls and her stomach flips and her pulse races. Lexa can see immediately that it’s still too soon. That Clarke is still reeling, still fighting her way to the surface for that long last gulp of air. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs quietly, hands pressed flat against Clarke’s back. Holding her close. Holding her present. “Not funny. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.” Clarke says it, but it doesn’t quite reach her tone.

 

“It’s not. I know. I’m sorry. I’m bad about it.”

 

“I think…it’s just still a little too real?” Clarke drifts a hand towards Lexa’s scar and looks up at her. “I was so, _so_ close to losing you. I could feel it, you know? _Taste_ it, even. It still keeps me up at night. I don’t like to think about it if I don’t have to.”

 

Lexa wraps around Clarke’s wrist and brings it away from her stomach, up to her lips. She kisses her fingers gently. Lingering. Clarke closes her eyes and lets the sweetness of the gesture ease her aching heart. “I’d like to be in our room tonight. I’d like to hold you. Kiss you back to sleep if you wake up. I miss you,” Lexa murmurs.

 

“I miss you too. But you’re—“

 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Hardly no pain anymore.” Lexa twists her torso as much as she can in the cramped space, by way of demonstration. “See?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“Can we try? Tonight? It doesn’t have to be a thing. No pressure. No sexy times. Nothing you’re not ready for.”

 

Clarke grins slightly. “ _You’re_ the one not ready for sexy times. I spend most of the day trying not to jump your bones.”

 

Lexa chuckles, bows until she’s curled around Clarke with her cheek resting atop her head. “I’m sorry. Just a little longer for me. Yeah?” She feels more than hears the acceptance in the soft swishing of Clarke’s nod against her chest.

 

“Of course. There’s no race.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t want you. You know that, right?”

  
“I know.”

 

“Because I do.”

 

“I want you too.”

 

“It’s just been a while. I’m not sure how to—things are still—“

 

“Things are different.” Clarke wiggles free and looks up at her. “ I get it, love. Things are different. We’re different.”

  
“But still good. Right?”

 

“Super good,” Clarke reassures with a gentle smile. “So good I’m willing to spend five minutes shoved into a window with you.”

 

Lexa lets out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and laughs, shimmying out of the small space, almost missing the way the sun against the glass had kept her warm and cozy.

 

“I think she’s gone,” Clarke checks.

 

“I was never really worried. I just wanted you to myself for a second.”

 

“We came alone, Lex. You had me to yourself to begin with.”

 

“Yeah, well. I wanted you closer.”

 

“You could have asked.”

 

“ _Spontaneous._ Remember? You like it about me. _Love_ it even. Or so I’ve been told.”

 

“You are something else, you know that?”

 

“But you love me.”

 

Clarke smiles. “I do.”

 

“And I love you.”

 

“You do.”

 

“Wanna go for a walk?”

 

Clarke chuckles. “Getting stuck wasn’t enough Clarke-time for you?”

 

Lexa grabs their bags from the table and loops her arm around Clarke’s waist, sliding her to her hip. “I’ve got about—“ she checks her watch, “—an eternity left in my Clarke-time threshold. So we better get going before I get sick of you.”

 

//

 

 

“Grey tie,” Clarke murmurs, running her hands across Lexa’s chest, smoothing the fine fabric out. A tense and anxious sigh expands in her chest and sits, tight and heavy.

 

“You don’t have to come, you know.” Clarke’s brow creases as if to tell her not to be ridiculous. Lexa catches the wanderlust hands roaming over her suit and holds them still. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

“I don’t want to see her again.”

 

“I know you don’t.”

 

“I’m embarrassed.”

 

“Hey.” Lexa dips, trying to find Clarke’s downtrodden eyes. She taps the underside of her chin, beckoning her upwards. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

 

Clarke laughs. One little puff of annoyed, humorless amusement. “Now you’re just lying to me.”

 

“You could stay home. Be with Lexie. Pretend nothing’s happening—“

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

Clarke shakes her head adamantly. “Hiding from my emotions and my fears is what got us into trouble. I’m not going to avoid this. I need to face this. Face… _her._ ” She says it like even just forming the syllable causes her great disgust. And it does.

 

“She may not even be there.”

 

“She’s her daughter. Of course she’ll be there.”

 

“You know I love you?”

 

It takes her a while, but Clarke nods, fingers latching onto the tip of Lexa’s tie.

 

“And…that I’ve forgiven you. Long since. Yeah?”

 

That sigh, the one that’d still been sitting in her chest, festering, biting—it releases, wet and shaky. She doesn’t resist when Lexa tuts at her and brings her into her arms, squeezing her gently. “We’re okay, Clarke,” she soothes. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

//

 

The court room is large and austere with it’s white marble finishes and commanding stone columns. It leers down at Clarke. Cocks it’s head, as if to ask her, _who dare goes here?_ She feels like she might faint, each foot on each stair shakier than the last until she’s barely climbing the last step.

 

“You okay?” Lexa’s voice vibrates differently than what’s around her. It pulls her out of her head, out of the weightless ringing that’d taken over her worldview for a few seconds. Maybe minutes.

 

She nods and takes her outstretched hand. It’s cold, but sure. Strong. Competent. This is Lexa’s playground, she reminds herself. All those years spent at that law firm before deciding to redefine the business world. This is where Lexa comes to feast. Where she comes to conquer.

 

She’s not even representing herself, but Clarke knows that her wife is the one in control. The one with the power. It’s reassuring as the press lights blind their entrance into the lobby. Faceless name tags, merciless microphones, incriminating tape recorders—they’re all shoved into their faces as they make their way across the floor.

 

Lexa’s back. Clarke focuses on Lexa’s back as she pulls her along, ignoring the masses. The wide set of her shoulders. Her slim waist. The crisp middle seam that fits her perfectly. No horizontal pulling to be found. The beautiful, subtle glen plaid pattern of the fabric. Without the grey tie—with something spicier, maybe her navy blue one, or her emerald green one—it might be one of Clarke’s favorite suit outfits to date. Right behind the tight, burgundy one with the satin lapels, only brought out for the ridiculous occasions. The occasional Oscar invite. The random New York Elites parties.

 

“Clarke?”

 

Clarke’s head snaps up and it takes her a moment to take in the quietness of their new surroundings.

 

“You okay?”

 

Clarke breathes. One large inhale. An equally large exhale. She nods.

 

Lexa nods too, places a brief, reassuring hand to Clarke’s shoulder, then she’s gone. “What was that?” She snaps, turning to their lawyer. “That was a shit show.”

 

“Someone must have tipped them off. This is a hot case. Nia Azgeda is the queen of Wall Street and you’re here to take her down. What do you expect?”

 

“I _expect_ you to have kept a handle on this. My family’s been through enough, Mike.”

 

Their long-time lawyer shrinks under Lexa’s gaze and tugs nervously at his tie. “They won’t be in the proceedings. I promise you that.”

 

Lexa stares at him hard before her gaze flicks over to Clarke. She looks so beautiful, her navy blue A-Line dress perfect for the occasion. She’d forgotten to tell her so, in the rush of the morning. She’d forgotten to just, be still with her. Be present. She’d forgotten to run her hands up her arms like she longed to do now, and kiss her forehead. Forgotten to compliment her pretty up-do. She watches Clarke pace, her fingers absentmindedly picking nervously at the crease of her elbow.

  
“Mike, I need a second with Clarke. Do you mind?”

 

He shuffles out without having to be asked twice, and when the door closes to the chambers, Lexa calls to her wife gently and draws her into a hug. “Doing alright?”

  
Clarke settles against her and nods as her fingers walk up Lexa’s back. Restless. Worried. “Overwhelmed,” she admits in a breath.

 

“Understandable.”

 

Clarke pulls back to look up at her, keeping connected by their hands, and tries to mirror within herself the calm, sureness on Lexa’s face. “Are you nervous?”

 

“No. The case is solid. Really this is just to insure that Nia is gets what’s coming to her. The charges brought against me were dropped and it’s too late to bring about any new ones. At least today.” She reaches for Clarke’s cheek. “So nothing to worry about.”

 

//

 

Clarke fidgets through the entire first half of the proceedings, shifting left and right between her mother and Anya until Marcus squeezes her reassuringly on the shoulder from behind. She turns to look at him and does her best to return the smile he gives.

 

Lexa looks so calm surrounded by members of her company’s board and their army of lawyers. She doesn’t even flinch when Nia is called to the stand. She’s stoic even when Echo slams into during a small recess.

 

When she herself takes the stand, she sits talk and answers efficiently. She speaks with grace and a tone that dares anyone to argue. When her gaze occasionally finds Clarke, it’s strong and confident and full of love. It makes Clarke fidget harder, restless to get her hands on Lexa. Restless to hug her and hold her and kiss her and tell her what an amazing job she’s doing and that she’s proud of her and loves her and _trusts_ her.

 

She’s still restless during the lunch break when she has her face in a water fountain, fingers tapping rhythmic-less against her thigh while she waits for Lexa to finish her quick meeting with her council.  

 

“You okay there, Sparky?”

 

Water splashes against her chin as she jerks up at the voice and the subsequent hand on her back.  She’s still swiping the back of her hand against her chin when Raven gives her a small wave and goes for a hug.

 

She steps back and tries to ignore the way it registers on Raven’s face and in her shoulders. “What are you doing here?” She looks past Raven and inhales sharply. “What are _they_ doing here?”

 

“We wanted to support Lexa. Maybe…make up a little for how we acted.”

 

“I think it’s a little late for that, Rae. And I’m not sure this is the appropriate place for an apology. She’s got a lot on her mind.”

 

“We don’t even have to talk. We just wanted to be here. In the audience, or, you know whatever. Just so she knows we’re behind her.”

 

Clarke considers, caught between wanting to encourage amends and beings so incredibly angry on both she and Lexa’s behalf.

 

“It doesn’t have to be a thing. We’ll just sit there quietly. Be silent bodies. Numbers. On her side. You know?”

 

“You realize she’s not on trial, right?” Clarke sighs, tired and emotionally overcharged. “She just has to be here to represent her company.”

 

“Okay. Then.” Raven looks around, clearly unprepared for this wrinkle in her planned speech. “Well then we can be here to just show the jury that Lexa and her company are good people.”

 

“There’s no jury, Raven. It’s not that kind of case.”

 

Raven’s eyes fall as she admits defeat, nodding slowly and distancing herself from Clarke. “So we should probably just go?”

 

“That depends.” A new, solid, resounding voice beckons their attention as Lexa crosses to them and stands next to Clarke, hand on her back.

 

“Lexa—hey, we just—”

 

“I’m not finished.” It’s not mean, but it effectively silences everyone within earshot. “There are two things that are gonna happen right. One, you’re going to apologize for the absolute shit you put me through and have been putting me through since high school.”

 

“You’re right, Lex, and we’re—“

 

“I said two things, Raven. Please. You’re an engineer, I know you know how to count.”

 

Raven’s mouth snaps shut and all she can do is nod.

 

“Two things. One, you apologize. Two, understand that if you stay today, in support of me, that will mean you are actively standing against Echo and her mother. You need to accept that, you need to embody that, and you need to _want_ that. If that’s not something you can do, then you need to take Bellamy and Octavia, and you need to leave.”

 

Clarke leans her head on Lexa’s shoulder and interlaces their fingers, a united front.

 

“Those are the terms. Take them or leave them, but I’d like to go grab lunch with my wife sometime in the next two minutes, so. Ball’s in your court.”

 

“We want to stay,” Raven offers without hesitation. “We want to be here for you. We know we made mistakes, I made mistakes, and we—”

 

Lexa silences her with a flick of her wrist and sighs, trying to discourage the headache wanting to form between her eyes. “Yeah, we’ll talk about those mistakes after this is all over, don’t you worry. If you think you’re going to waltz back into my life with a simply apology and an appearance at my case, you’re not as smart as I thought you are. This—“ she gestures to the fact that Raven, Bellamy and Octavia are present, “—this means nothing. You—”

 

She clenches her jaw, swallows several times, and leans in because she promised herself she wouldn’t make a scene the second she’d walked out of her meeting and saw them standing with Clarke.

 

“—You _broke_ me,” she breathes. Her eyes water before she can stop them, but she doesn’t waver. She stares Raven down, then Octavia. Bellamy. “Every single one of you. You watched me get torn down and then you kicked me while I was face first on the ground. And you’ve been doing it since high school. And I’ve _had_ it. I’m not doing it anymore.” She straightens back up and clears her throat, adjusting the knot of her tie that had suddenly gotten too tight. “Consider this a wake-up call. I’m done putting up with your abuse. You didn’t like me in high school because I was other from you. You didn’t understand me and you didn’t even want to try to. Even after your best friend fell for me. And you know what, that’s fine. We were young. We were all a little stupid. But we’re all adults now. It’s time to grow up. I’m willing to let you be here today, to try to start to mend things between us, because Clarke loves you, and I love Clarke. But this is by no means an end all, be all. I’ve put up with your shit for too long, and I don’t have to. So I’m not going to. Be better, or don’t bother.” 

 

Before anyone can even _attempt_ to come up with a response worthy enough to be vocalized, Lexa turns to Clarke and gives her a tight, but effortful smile. “I’m going to use the restroom before we go. I’ll meet you outside?” She starts to pull out of Clarke’s grasp, but Clarke tightens her grip and shakes her head.

 

“I want to say something. And I want you all to hear it, so come here.” She nods towards Octavia and Bellamy still lingering a few paces behind Raven. The Blakes look like scolded children as they shuffle forward, eyes flicking between Clarke, Lexa and the back of Raven’s head. She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the feeling of Lexa’s eyes on her.

 

“Look. This is mostly my fault. I—“

 

“Clarke,” Lexa chides, baffled.

 

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Clarke gives her a hand another gentle squeeze. “A lot of this is my fault. I watched you treat Lexa like an outsider all through high school and I never did anything about it because I was selfish. And I thought you’d stop once you saw we were serious. Once you saw how _happy_ she makes me. I know that the four of us grew up together, since we were tiny monsters terrorizing the neighborhood, and I know that makes you think you have some sort of claim over me. But that doesn’t mean you get to terrorize Lexa into being exactly what you want her to be for me. I let you because it made me feel good to have so many people caring about me and looking out for me, but in reality, I was letting you ostracize the one person who cared for me and looked out for me the most. I know that now. I’ve messed up, but I’m working on it, _we’re_ working on it. Lexa is my sun and moon and stars and she’s an amazing mother and an incredible wife. And she deserves to be treated as such. And as much as I want to put all of this on your shoulders, this starts with me.” She turns to Lexa, eyes wide and emphatic. “I’m going to be so much better for you, Lex. I promise. And that means—“

 

She takes another deep breath. Hesitant almost.

 

“—That means…I don’t want you here today.”

 

The looks on everyone’s face is almost enough to stop her in her tracks, but she plows forward.

 

“I appreciate the gesture, but…but you don’t get to just walk in here and be seen as our friends and family and bask in our success when this case closes and Lexa comes out on top. After everything, this is just not something I want to share with you. Not yet. This is about Lexa and her company. It’s about our family. It’s about…closure and healing and…forgiveness.” Her voice wavers on the last word and she has to stop for another shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, dipping her face to wipe away a tear. “I’m sorry. I just, I want this to be about Lexa. And her triumph. And then I want it to be about us and our family. And I need you to resepct that.”

 

“Wow,” Raven breathes, much sooner than anyone is expecting her to speak. She nods, slowly, sadly, but agreeable. “Speaking only for myself, I’d say I’ve got a lot to…digest. And I think you’re right. I think maybe today isn’t the day. So…you’ll text me? We can do coffee or something…” She can barely meet the Woods couple’s eyes as she acquiesces with as much grace as anyone can in such a situation. Bellamy and Octavia are not quite as verbal in their acceptance. Bellamy takes a fleeting glance at Lexa while Octavia shoots Clarke a weak, apologetic smile before following Raven out of the courthouse.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, baby,” Lexa says, breathy and rushed like she’s in awe of Clarke. She is. She really is.

 

“I had to put my foot down. I had to show them once and for all that you’re my family and my priority and nothing is ever going to get in between us.” _Never again,_ she seems to say as she leans into Lexa’s chest. “I love you _so,_ so much, Lex. You’re my world.”

 

As tender as ever, Lexa caresses Clarke’s face, pets her hair, traces her jaw, simply loving. Simply enjoying the togetherness. The understanding and respect and fierce adoration. “I love you too, sweetheart,” she murmurs, eyes bouncing around her wife’s face like they can’t find a place to land because it’s all so captivating.  

 

“Lexa?”

  
The couple turns to see a regrettable looking Mike poking his head out of the courtroom doors. “They’re back early. We’re ready to start again.”

 

With a tired, easy chuckle Lexa folds Clarke into an embrace and hums, giving her a gentle spin until Clarke is laughing with her. They still and Lexa returns her back to her feet, eyes sparkling. “I guess we’ll just have to make dinner an ordeal.”

 

“We could make it a date?”

 

“Oh yeah? How about you, me, and a certain city-overlook. Maybe some candles and wine?”

 

Clarke plays with her lip, flirty and lighter than she’d been even just minutes ago. She nods. Kisses her wife and smiles. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, concerns? We can go more in depth at ecfandom.tumblr.com. I'm usually ranting about one thing or another there. Come join me.


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